In Case You Didn't Know
by murphycat
Summary: Perry left for San Francisco. Della Street and Paul Drake stayed in LA. What could have happened to make Perry swear never to return or speak to them again?
1. Chapter 1

In Case You Didn't Know

1983

Della stood next to Paul Drake's grave. The earth was so freshly turned that it was pungent, an olfactory and gut rending reminder of 'ashes to ashes, dust to dust.'

The bronze casket that held Paul's body was on a bier, with an American flag arrayed elegantly across it. To the side stood young Marines in their dress blues ready to do the proper military honors, which he so richly deserved, from his service in WWII. Many of the young men looked younger than towels she owned, she mused.

A slight wind suddenly swept across the graveyard and lifted the hair gently off the nape of her neck, briefly alleviating the warmth and dampness there. Della was bone tired, hurt, and shell shocked. She was even hotter because Paul, Jr., was so close that he was touching her shoulder. She honestly didn't know who was holding up whom. Junior had adored his father.

Paul had never really thought seriously about becoming a father. Sure, he played with the idea in the back of his mind, but big Paul was only a meticulous planner when it came to his work. His private life was an improvised performance. Sometimes situations worked out, and sometimes they didn't. Having Junior sure was a success in his book. Della's, too.

The crowd was sizeable and quite diverse, ranging from police to red light district ladies, who weren't standing as near to the family as the cops, of course. Even prostitutes had some respect, after all. Paul had friends and contacts EVERYWHERE in his LA stomping grounds. She had nodded at Steve Drumm, now a captain in the LAPD, on the way to their seats. Hamilton Burger had given her a small smile, the concern in his eyes evident.

There was one face that Della didn't see and didn't expect to. She tried desperately hard not to look for him, though Paul would definitely have understood. Still, Della thought that it would be something of a betrayal.

Five years after leaving San Francisco and his judgeship, harsh words and misunderstandings had occurred and Perry Mason had sworn to himself that he would never return to Los Angeles. Perry remembered those exact words as he came up behind the densely packed crowd of mourners standing on the unnaturally green grass, for a California summer.

Never say never or you'll eat your words, as he and Paul used to say.

Ain't that the truth.

Persistently, Perry wound his way through people until he could see the casket and the family there.

United in their shared heartache, Perry could see the two of them seated in chairs placed beside the casket. Della dabbed at her tears, and the young man knit his brows together and stared numbly at the coffin.

The tall, large man tried to ignore all the eyes on him and the loud whispers around him. To hell with them. His business and feelings were none of theirs. When he first heard the news, the famed attorney felt sucker punched. No one, not a single person in this crowd, had probably considered his pain and his regret that the best friend he'd ever had had died in a car accident.

Perry thought that was as bad as it could get. He was wrong. Actually, seeing the casket was making him nauseous, along with Della's tears, and her obvious distress, all while trying to comfort Junior. The finality and pain of loss made the great Perry Mason want to fall to his knees and beat the ground with his fists at the futility and limited understanding of humanity.

Della glanced at Junior. He was pale and glassy eyed. She understood how he felt. Less than a week ago, the three of them had returned from a cruise to Hawaii, celebrating Junior's graduation from Cal State, at Long Beach. God knows, they had almost despaired of his making it to graduation. He had his father's eye for beautiful women along with a fondness for performing with an amateur jazz band. His GPA had dipped precariously many times.

She remembered their celebration in the backyard with steaks and drinks, **lots of drinks** , with friends and neighbors. Della remembered Junior calling home after getting his final grades, this past spring. Paul had raced through the house after hanging up the phone. She had been standing at the sink in the kitchen practically holding her breath waiting for the news. Paul had grabbed her from behind and spun her around while laughing and repeatedly yelling, "He did it! He finally did it!"

Della had laughed and cried along with him, as she had since the first day the boy had arrived, at six years old.

She unconsciously touched her lips in an attempt to stifle an upwelling of fresh sorrow at the memory. Junior instinctively put his arm around her and tried to console the woman he considered his mother. Della allowed herself to lean on him. He was a grown man now; he'd have to behave like one.

Reverend Williams finished his graveside service with John 16:33:

 _I have said these things to you, that in me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart, I have overcome the world._

Marines then stepped forward and started the elaborate ritual of folding the flag. Once folded, the flag was handed to the senior officer who bent over and gently placed it in Junior and Della's hands (Junior had insisted), while saying, "On behalf of the President of the United States, the United States Marine Corps, and a grateful nation, please accept this flag as a symbol of our appreciation for your loved one's honorable and faithful service."

Stepping back, he saluted and returned to his detail. There was a twenty-one-gun salute, which caused Della involuntarily to jump, although she'd expected the noise.

In the distance, a lone bugler began playing taps, which was Perry's unraveling. His chest became so tight and his breath became so labored that he wondered if this is what a heart attack felt like.

He forced himself to watch as Della placed her hand the in crook of Junior's arm and the young man led her to a waiting car, which would take them to a quieter and much emptier home where they would continue to grieve, privately. As for himself, Perry craved a drink, hopefully in a dark bar, where no one would recognize him for a while.


	2. Chapter 2

In Case You Didn't Know 2

"Are you hungry? Could I fix you something? We have a ton of food in there."

Della leaned over the back of the chair and rested her hand on his shoulder. It was night after the graveside service.

"No thanks, Della." Paul sighed. "Not really hungry."

"How's the game?" She asked as she sat down across from him.

"I guess it's okay, Dodgers and the Braves. I couldn't even tell you the score. My mind is just…." Paul trailed off. "I just keep expecting him to come barreling through the door, with that big goofy grin."

Della swallowed hard before she could answer, actually glancing at the door. "So do I."

"Dad travelled that road a million times. You know what he always said, right? 'Don't ever let your attention waver coming down the mountain from Big Bear or you'll have a big bear eating what's left of you.' He was the most careful driver I know. And why was he up there anyway? Are you **sure** he didn't mention he was meeting someone there?"

They had discussed this repeatedly over the last four days.

"Paul, I'm sure he didn't mention anything about going to Big Bear. All I can think is that something came up last minute. Maybe something to do with the Havens case that he was working."

"I still think that the cops were too hasty to write off the crash as an accident. Maybe it wasn't an accident at all." His face was getting red and he was raising his voice. "They sure didn't let the grass grow under their feet when it came to declaring it an accident. I mean, did they even bother to investigate?"

"Paul—" She attempted stop him before he could get wound up again. He hadn't slept through the night since they'd been notified, so neither had she.

The doorbell interrupted them. Thank God, she thought.

"I'm going to lie down for a while. Do you mind if I don't…?" He gestured towards the door. "I'd like to go up to Dad's room. His shoulders sagged and his eyes were sad.

"Go," she said, shooing him with her hands. "I'll take care of whoever it is." She waited until she heard the door close behind him before crossing to the front door.

Truth be told, Della had endured all the well wishers and condolences that she could bear for a while, too, so whoever it was, maybe she could impress upon them that Paul needed some privacy, and she needed some rest. All she could see through the distorted glass window was the figure of a man with darkish hair. She steeled herself and opened the door.

" _ **Perry**_?" Della stared at him, unable to breath. "You're…."

"Here?" He nodded his head gravely. "Yes, I am. Am I welcome to come in?" His voice was rough, as if he'd been yelling.

Recovering her composure, Della stepped back. "Yes, of course." As he stepped inside, she could smell the strong odor of alcohol and cigarettes.

He tentatively moved to the sofa, as if he thought she'd change her mind about inviting him in. Della sat down in what had been Paul's favorite chair. She felt defensive and anxious, and she didn't want anyone else in his place yet.

"I didn't see you at the service or the graveside." Della looked down. "I honestly didn't think you'd come."

"My plane was delayed or I would have made the church service. I was at the cemetery." The lawyer took a deep breath. "Quite a turnout. We should all be so well liked."

"Yes," murmured Della. "Would you like something to drink? I have some lemonade or coffee." His normally alert blue eyes were red and he looked like maybe he'd had enough alcohol.

"Lemonade. Thank you."

Della rose and went into the kitchen. He could hear ice clinking into a glass. As he took in the house, Perry couldn't help but notice that the place had a more masculine feel than before: a recliner (she'd always said she hated the bulky things); numerous baseball hats on the hall tree; _Sports Illustrated_ magazines beside the chair where she'd been sitting. Perry felt anger and angst grow inside him. Maybe he shouldn't have come.

"Would you like something to eat? I have some delicious pound cake that Gertie brought," she called from the kitchen. Her sultry voice hadn't changed, he thought.

"Yes, thank you."

Perry trailed her into the kitchen and stood watching while she washed her hands at the sink. The scene was so much like he remembered, before he'd left, yet so much was different. He abruptly noticed Della's bare feet. Smiling slightly, he remembered her kicking off her heels when they'd worked long hours in the office.

After settling down in a kitchen chair, Perry realized that he felt more insecure than he had in years.

Della heard his deep sigh and stole a glance at him. The beard was new; he looked more distinguished, if that was possible. He'd gained more weight since he'd left, and he looked done in, his tie was loosened and his eyes bloodshot. His being here was disconcerting and unexpected. The circumstances of his leaving had seen to that. Yelling at her. Fighting with Paul. The two had never reconciled. Now they never could.

She placed the plate and the glass, on the table, in front of him. He looked up at the sound.

Della seated herself across the table from him, not close beside him, like they used to do. She sipped her lemonade, eyeing the glass intently as she rotated it in her hands.

"How are you doing?" Perry finally asked. His blue eyes were tender. Not an emotion she'd seen from him in quite a while. "How's Junior?"

"Paul. It's just Paul, now," Della said, pushing the glass away and lacing her fingers together. "We're…. we'll be…. just fine…. eventually."

She swallowed hard and looked up with tears in her eyes. "It's a shock. We— _he_ joked about his heart giving out again or a jealous husband doing him in. This wasn't one of the predicted endings. Paul's taking it hard, of course. He's very hurt and angry, and he doesn't believe it was an accident."

Perry straightened his shoulders and his eyes looked somber. "And what do you think?"

"I don't know what to think. It's too soon. That's what I think, Perry."

"Look at me. Please." His voice was gentle, almost pleading.

"I can't. Not yet."

"Do you hate me that much, Della?"

"I don't hate you," she said softly. "I've wanted to hate you, and I was angry, still am, but I couldn't ever quite get over you either." Her soft hazel eyes finally met his hurt, unhappy blue ones.

A silent stalemate settled over them. Neither of them willing to give. Neither willing to give up.

"You moved in with another man and his child," Perry said, "To me that signaled the end of our…."

She cut him off, her tone hardening. "Our what, Perry? Can you define it? Even now. You left for San Francisco, and you informed me of your decision like I was an afterthought."

"You were never an afterthought! Never!" Perry declared, his eyes narrowing.

He stopped, remembering how heated and ugly those arguments had gotten. "How many times did I ask you to marry me? How many times did you say, no? I left and, within six months, I find out you're living with my best friend!"

Della leaned across the table towards him, and said, "I was never _living with_ Paul! After his heart attack, he allowed himself to get run down again. His doctor said he was putting himself at serious risk. I insisted that he stay in my garage apartment. It saved him money when he wasn't able to work for a while, and he was nearby so I could help him get back on his feet. Paul, Jr, had to have a room, and I let him stay in the house when he wasn't at Long Beach. I enjoyed having them close. You make it sound so sordid! Do you really think-"

Perry was stunned. "Are you telling me that the two of you weren't—"

Della pushed her chair back angrily, making the legs squeal on the linoleum. "Stop it, Perry. You left us all, and for what? I never knew you were so ambitious. You wanted to be the best in your field, and you were! I didn't understand why you agreed to take Jerry's place on the bench after he died, and I still don't."

She turned her back to him to calm and steady herself, hands firmly on the counter, facing out the window. "I thought we ended this a long time ago. I'm sure you haven't spent _your_ nights alone, pining away for me."

Perry got to his feet and reached around her, his front to her back, and lay his hands atop hers.

"Do you think anyone could ever take your place? My god, Della, but my guts were ripped out every time I thought about you playing family with Paul and Junior?" His voice was low but filled with rejection and hurt.

His touch engulfed her with flame, but his words set her on fire.

Della pushed back against him and whirled to face him, cheeks and neck red with emotion. "We weren't playing," she said fiercely. "We were a family. Not a conventional one, but, make no mistake, Perry Mason, we were a family. _You_ left me behind. You had me pack up our lives, our careers, our purpose, like we, you and I, never loved or existed. I started a new career, and I helped create a family with the people whom I loved that stayed with me. They needed me. You made it clear that you didn't need or want any of us." She stopped speaking. Crushing emotion took her voice.

Perry pulled her to him, so close that his lips almost touched hers. His overpowering physicality made her feel vulnerable and slightly aroused. Muscle memory is a powerful thing. In a plaintive, mournful voice, he said, "In case you didn't know, Miss Street, _I know_ I was wrong. I was bored with my perfect life. I grew to despise contentment and love because I was an ungrateful bastard. I alienated my best friend. I lost the woman I loved." His hold on her grew in intensity when he said, " _The woman I still love_. I let my pride stop me from coming back after I thought that you and Paul-"

Della pushed him back so she could take a breath. "You assumed that I, or Paul, would do to you what you'd done to me. Walk away or betray me?"

Perry blanched and looked ashamed.

"I knew. I always knew. Even about Laura Parrish. You held us to a standard that you crossed, and if we did, Perry, who could possibly have blamed us?"

He stared at her, abashed.

"The great orator is at a loss for words? Yes, we both knew."

The loss and sadness that she'd suffered caused by his leaving, and Paul's death came crashing down on her in an emotional tsunami. Della began sobbing, heaving, plumb-less depths of sorrow finally pushing its way out.

Perry tried desperately to comfort her. "Oh, god. Della, no. Please."

The loud sound of a slamming door startled them both.

"What the hell are you doing here," Junior demanded.

*The title is based on a country song by Brett Young. Take a listen. You may hear my inspiration. It may be a couple of days before I update. Thanks for your reviews on Chapter 1.


	3. Chapter 3

In Case You Didn't Know 3

Della instantly stepped away from Perry, wiping tears away from her cheeks.

"I asked you why you're here, Perry. Surely it couldn't be because you give a damn." The younger man's icy blue eyes shot daggers at the older man, especially after seeing Della's tears. "Are you all right, dear," he asked her.

"I'm fine, Paul. We were discussing your dad. Perry was just leaving." She unconsciously licked her lower lip, one of her few tells, because she still wasn't good at lying.

"Della," the attorney started speak, but she cut him off.

"Thank you for coming. I'll see you out," she said, and strode past him. Opening the front door, Della refused to meet his eyes. "Have a safe flight back to San Francisco."

Perry paused at the door, wanting to say something, anything, that could close the vast distance between them.

Paul appeared behind her, and, rather than risk upsetting them more, Perry chose to throw in the towel—for now.

"Paul, I am sorry about your father. He was one of the finest men I've ever had the privilege of knowing, and he will be missed by a great many people, including me." To Della, he added, "I'll be in touch."

Della came out of the bathroom upstairs after washing her face. She'd gotten herself back under control, at least outwardly. Paul was waiting, leaning against the wall, and biting a nail. He sprang at her.

"Are you going to tell me what he said?" He asked for the third or thirtieth time, Della couldn't keep count at this point.

Paul could be like a dog with a bone sometimes. If he couldn't get the information out of you by simply asking, he would aggravate you endlessly until you either gave in or plainly told him to shut up. His father employed more of the latter, and Della usually gave in if it wasn't something intensely private or something that would cause more harm than good, like things about his mother.

"Della, come on! We haven't seen him in years, I mean, not so much as a phone call, and then I find the two of you in an argument. I deserve to know what happened, don't you think? After all this affects me, too." He was shadowing her all over the house peppering her with variations of the same questions.

She stopped abruptly to pick up a pair of shoes that she'd left in the hallway, and Paul, chattering away ran right into her, almost knocking her down.

"Paul?! For goodness sake! Will you stop before you hurt one of us?" Della was tired and edgy.

"Sorry," he said sheepishly. "I just never understood why he stopped coming to visit or call. He was such a big part of my life and then he was suddenly gone. No explanation, and neither you nor Dad would ever talk about it."

"Believe me, Paul, I understand your confusion more than you'll ever know. Perry is complicated, and this is none of your business, dear. Even I have secrets," she said, giving him a sweet smile and a firm look.

"I'll just go watch some tv for a while, okay," he said, in an apologetic tone. His facial expressions so much like his father's that it broke her heart.

Later that night, lying in a hotel bed less than ten miles away, Perry could call up in minute detail the evening that he ran into Hamilton Berger, in San Francisco all those years ago.

Berger had been there for a law enforcement symposium and was giving a lecture on the importance of documenting the of chain of evidence. The DA recognized the big man across the room, sitting at the hotel bar.

"Perry Mason! How the hell are you?" Berger was genuinely delighted to see Perry. He'd missed his favorite opponent from across the aisle who'd certainly kept him at the top of his judicial game.

"Hamilton! What are you doing in the city by the bay?"

"Business, as usual, of course. My vacations are a rarity these days. Crime not only never takes a day off, it works overtime. I'm lucky if I get a weekend. My wife and daughter are beginning to think I'm a myth like Bigfoot."

"I hope they're well. How old is Olivia now?"

Hamilton Berger reached inside his jacket and removed his wallet. He pulled out a photo of his daughter and handed it over to Perry. "She's nineteen now and a freshman at Berkeley."

Captured in the photo was a lovely young red-haired woman, with flashing white teeth, and what looked to be a party in the background. He studied the picture intensely. "She's stunning, Hamilton. When was this taken?"

"Her last birthday party, in March. She's way smarter than her dad," Hamilton said proudly.

"She gets her good looks from her mother though," Perry said, smiling.

"Thank God," Berger laughed.

They'd had several drinks and discussed old cases. Conspicuously missing from the conversation was any mention of Della. At the time, Perry had thought it was odd, but it hadn't triggered any alarm bells. It did in retrospect.

After he'd gotten home that evening, he couldn't get the picture out of his mind, like a record with a needle stuck in a groove; the image replayed over and over again. It was the background that had seized his attention; Perry could see Paul and Della. He had been sitting beside her, and it appeared they were chatting in a group of friends. Paul's arm was loosely around the back of her chair. She was looking at someone Perry didn't recognize and laughing. Paul was looking at Della, and the look on his friend's face was unmistakably one of adoration.

Perry had already concluded that he had made a mistake by taking the judgeship. Things had cooled with Della. She was getting her sea legs in a new job, in a new field. Not easy to do at their age, as he was finding out. They didn't get to spend much time together because it was hard to mesh their schedules. That was the excuse at least. He'd hurt her when he'd left for San Francisco. What was worse was making the decision without discussing it with her, expecting her to just go along with his plans.

So, had she moved on? With Paul? The great irony was that he was going to resign, when Jerry's term would have ended on the court, and Perry could have returned to Los Angeles.

Paul had always told him jokingly that he was only waiting for Perry to eventually mess up, and he'd be there to pick up the pieces with Della.

The joke was on him. Perry had indeed messed up. He'd chosen to ditch his amazing life, along with the remarkable people dearest to him. He supposed they had a right to feel he'd discarded them. He'd been at the height of his career, more than financially secure. His relationship with Della was strong.

The problem was that it was too perfect. Perry wanted challenges, he thought. Six months in San Francisco had cured his romantic notions. He was thinking in clichés, but you don't ever know what you have until it's gone. He found it was extremely difficult establishing meaningful relationships at his age. Maybe because deep down because heart was still in LA.

Picturing the handsome couple they made, the family, made him jealous and resentful. Seeing them together intimately in his imagination made him feel ill and betrayed. He had no right to feel wronged.

But Della _and Paul together?_ They had their own lives, too, and had moved on. But he sure as hell didn't have to like it.

Perry needed more information. Unfortunately, the person he would have normally hired to get that information sure wouldn't be interested in taking this job any more than he himself would be interested in hiring him. There were other people from whom he could quietly get confirmation or not. He would be very discrete about verifying what he thought was happening, before he saw them again. Pictures could be deceiving, but his intuition told him that this one was indeed worth a thousand words.

The next evening after His Honor Perry Mason arrived home and had a drink, he decided to call Della. All day long in the back of his mind had been the picture of Della and Paul. He needed to talk to her, maybe mention meeting Hamilton and how he showed him the picture of his daughter. It was possible she'd bring it up herself. Maybe they'd laugh about it, and then he would tell her he was going to step down and come back to Los Angeles.

Perry reached for the phone and dialed her number from memory. He heard it ring and ring and just when he thought her answering machine would pick up, he heard a man's voice answer.

"Hello?" The voice sounded out of breath.

Perry said, "I'm sorry. I must have dialed the wrong number."

"Uncle Perry? It's Junior. No, uh, it's Della's phone. I was just getting home and was struggling to get through the door and to the phone. How are you doing?"

Surprised, is how I'm doing, he thought. "I'm fine. How are you, young man? Shouldn't you be at college?"

"Fall break," he said, his voice full of vibrance. "Uh, listen, I'm sure you called to talk to Della, but she's not here right now."

"I'm sorry to hear that, but she wasn't expecting my call. I'll try back around 9:30 tonight, if you'll leave her a note. I suppose that new job of hers keeps her pretty busy if she's not home by 8:00."

Paul, Jr., said, "I'd be happy to leave her a message, but Dad said it would be late when they got home tonight. I quote, 'Don't wait up, son. We're over 18.'" He laughed. "They knew that I was on my way home, so Della said just to let myself in and she'd see me tomorrow. Actually, I'm just arriving from Long Beach now."

Perry was quiet digesting Junior's words.

"Are you there, Perry?"

"Yes, I'm here," the older man grunted. "I didn't think about it being Friday night."

"Oh, this was planned for a while. Steve Drumm got a promotion to captain. Dad and Della were taking him and his wife to dinner to celebrate. Dad and Steve are on the same bowling team, and they've gotten to be pretty buddy-buddy. Della teases Dad every time he's doing anything with Capt. Drumm that's he's really cultivating a friendship with Steve for inside information." Junior laughed again, not noticing that Perry wasn't. Ah, the self-centeredness of youth.

"Okay, Perry, I've got to hurry I'm expecting some of my friends to drop by. I want to remove all the breakables from the house temporarily, so I don't get killed by the two of them if something gets smashed. Oh, but, they gave permission, because if I got caught having an unauthorized party here, they'd kick my very cute butt right to the curb."

"Okay, Junior, take care of yourself and have fun. Don't bother with a note; I'll just get up with her tomorrow."

"Cool. I'm looking forward to seeing you. It's been ages. I know Della and Dad would love for you to come down for a weekend. You know, hang with the old crowd. Take care."

Perry sat alone on the other end of line.


	4. Chapter 4

In Case You Didn't Know 4

"Perry, this is an unexpected surprise. Thank you for the lunch invitation," Steve Drum said, as he slid into the booth. "It's been a long time. I wish we were meeting under better circumstances."

"So, do I, Steve," Perry answered. He had called the morning after Paul's funeral and invited the LAPD captain out to lunch that afternoon.

After the usual break-the ice-chit, Perry got to what he had wanted to talk about all along.

"Paul—Junior—Paul doesn't believe that his father's wreck was an accident. Is there more to the story than you've released or told Della and Junior-Paul-dammit. I can't get used to calling him by his father's name. It's damn inconvenient and more than a little unsettling," he said, partially kidding. "Paul should have his ass kicked for that if for nothing else." He was joking, but his heart was heavy and it was obvious.

Steve laughed, "I know. I still call him Junior. It irritates the hell out of him. As for Paul's case, I can't discuss an ongoing investigation. You know that. Are you representing Junior?

"Does he need representation? You're dancing around my questions. I know you better than that." Perry leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "They deserve answers if there's more to this accident than meets the eye."

"Where exactly do you enter into the picture, Perry? You've been away from LA for a while now. I know you still cared about Paul, but you're interfering in things you shouldn't. What are your motives for getting involved? Why would this even concern you? You hadn't spoken to him or Della in ages. Trying to be the hero again."

"That's a low blow, Steve. I've made some mistakes and hurt people, but I don't deserve that kind of contempt. I still cared about Paul."

"It's not contempt, Perry. It's a solid supposition based on sound evidence. Paul was like a brother to you, yet you spoiled your friendship with him, and ruined your relationship with Della, who, god knows, was a saint to put up with your moods and indiscretions before you left."

"What do you know about my behavior?"

"Paul and I talked some. He told me a little, not much. He was loyal to the end. He was crushed about the falling out with you, and he wished often that the two of you could have made amends. He was still angry about the way you treated, Della, though."

"Fine," Perry belted out, "We both agree that I was a selfish bastard. Now can we move on? I'd like you to tell me what Paul confided in you about what he was working on when he died, and if it involved someone named Havens."

Steve took a deep breath. "I can't comment on an ongoing—"

Perry moved to get up out of his chair.

"Where are you going? We haven't even eaten yet," Steve demanded.

Perry threw a twenty and a ten down on the table. "That should pay for it. You've given me all I need to know, and a personal critique that I didn't need."

"I haven't told you a damn thing," Steve said defensively. "Certainly nothing you didn't already know."

"Yes, actually, you have. If it was an accident then you'd say so definitively. You wouldn't be giving me this bullshit spiel."

Steve laughed bitterly. "You forget, Perry, I've lost a good friend, too. I'm not going to let you screw up this investigation on some quixotic quest. The LAPD is looking into Paul's death, and we will inform Junior and Della of everything they need to know. Now stay out of my way," he growled.

Perry started to walk away, but Steve wasn't through yet.

"She doesn't deserve to be hurt by you again," he called.

Perry didn't look back as he walked out of the restaurant. Now he had somewhere to start.

_XXX_

"Arthur, I'm fine, really. I'm…. okay. If you insist. Thank you, Arthur."

Della replaced the telephone in its cradle. She was on bereavement leave for the next week. It wasn't something she wanted, but Arthur Gordon was foisting it on her, thinking that it was in her best interest. She was tired of other people determining her best interests. One thing she didn't need was more time to think.

She busied herself making a cup of raspberry tea, with honey, and sat down, gazing out the window into the back yard. Della missed Paul and couldn't quite believe that she'd never hear him come through the house, calling out, "Hi, beautiful." He was a live wire running through her life, but she still had her regrets. She thought he deserved better than she was able to give him. She missed his laugh and his teasing. She would miss the inevitable arguments between Junior and him over sports because Junior always picked the team opposing the one that his father liked. Paul's company after Perry moved away had helped her survive with some semblance of grace. Taking care of him took her mind off Perry's absence.

Della had endured many uncomfortable and frustrating days when she first starting working for Arthur Gordon. Paul would try to be home before she arrived, dinner picked up, ready to take her for a walk, or just listening to her vent, always taking her side. Sometimes he'd comforted her in other ways, but she'd always said she would regret it. But really?

Perry. What a mess. Della had found a kind of peace, finally. Now he was back. Was he going to reel her in to cut her loose again, leaving her adrift. Paul would not be there to save her this time.

She should have been a better person, she thought. Resting her head on her arms, on the tabletop, she wept for all of them.

Paul, Jr, had left with some of his friends for a weekend camping trip, in Joshua Tree. He'd felt guilty leaving her alone so soon, but she assured him that she'd be fine. Now…. she wasn't so sure, but she had plenty to do. This afternoon she had an appointment with Paul's lawyer to pick up some papers, then to the court house for a death certificate. Dying, at least dying officially, was a complicated, pain in the butt process.

After getting dressed, she'd been operating on autopilot, so when she opened the door to get the mail, she was quite startled to find Perry there with his hand outstretched for the doorbell.

"Oh, my, Perry! For Pete's sake!" Della didn't say it unkindly.

"I'm sorry, but I was afraid if I'd called, then you might refuse to talk to me. I'd like to ask you some questions about this Havens case that Paul was working on before he died."

Della took the mail from the box on the side of the house, allowing the flap to fall with a loud metal clang. He followed her into the house while she sorted through the mail.

"Why do you need to know? What have you found out," she asked, not looking up at him, trying to keep him at arm's length.

"Steve Drumm is holding his cards awfully close to his chest if this was only a car accident. After I talked with him, I stopped by the salvage yard where Paul's Blazer was allegedly taken after it was recovered. Only it wasn't there. As it turns out, it's in police impound. Maybe Junior was onto something."

'Hunh," was all she said, sitting down at the small kitchen table. He followed suit; now he had her full attention.

"Did he tell you anything about this Havens business? Did he keep anything here related to his cases?"

"No," she said, as she shook her head. "No, Paul didn't bring his work home. We worked out a deal. He had to cut down on his stress level, so when he came home he left work at work. He kept his word, as far as I know," she said with quiet assurance, but she looked pensive.

"What is it," Perry asked.

"I was busy and I didn't attach any meaning to it, but he just stopped talking about that case. At least to me. I think he talked to Steve about it. I walked in on a couple of conversations where the name Havens was mentioned, and Paul was on the phone with him."

"I'm assuming you know where there is a spare key to his office," he stated.

"I have one," she answered. "We can stop by his lawyer's first. There are some papers that I need to pick up." Della rose gracefully, grabbed her purse, and said, "I'll drive."

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

Perry sat in the waiting room of Paul's attorney, William Ashcroft. Della was the co-executor of Paul Drake's estate and she had power of attorney, so she had plenty to read and sign. After about an hour, the door opened and she walked out. Without a glance towards him, she headed right out the door, a large manila envelope in her hands. Her face was stony.

"Della? Are you alright?" He caught up with her at the car. "What's wrong?"

"Get in," she said, her voice brooked no argument.

She started the car, turning on the air conditioning. Opening the envelope, she reached inside and took out three legal sized envelopes.

"He left each of us a letter. Me. Paul. _And you_."

Perry was taken aback. "He what?"

"He left you a letter, dammit. Do you want it or not," she asked, obviously out of sorts.

He took the proffered letter with his name on the outside, in Paul's familiar handwriting.

"Did you know about this?"

"No. No idea. I'm as surprised as you are."

Ignoring his astonished expression, Della backed the car up, and said, "I want to read my letter in private, and I assume you want to do the same." She headed the car down Sutton, refusing to look over at him. "I want to go to Paul's office first. If his death was something more than an accident, I want to know."

**I want to thank everyone who has reviewed. This isn't an easy story to write because I've wrestled with the same dilemma that some of you have. How could they possibly have separated? Yet they did. Mmmm.


	5. Chapter 5

In Case You Didn't Know 5

Della was relieved that Paul's office was no longer in the old Brent building. It would have been murderously uncomfortable to have to go back to the same building that had also held Perry's office. Way too many memories to face right now.

They passed through the waiting room. Perry noticed that it was tastefully done, and he wondered if Della had had a hand in that.

Pulling out another separate key, she opened the door that led into Paul's inner office. It had been thoroughly tossed.

"What on earth," she exclaimed as they stood on the threshold of the door. The filing cabinets were open, papers were everywhere, even seat cushions were cut open. "Who would do something like this?"

"Someone who wanted to find something very badly," Perry said, seriously. "Don't touch anything. We need to call the police later to report a breaking and entering."

Della eyed him suspiciously. "What do you mean, by 'later?' Why not now?"

"Let's look through the office first, and try not to touch anything. We'll see if you spot anything missing or maybe get some idea of what they may have been looking for."

Della headed to the filing cabinets. Perry headed to his old friend's desk.

Using his handkerchief, Perry looked through the drawers which had been pried open. Notes, pens, gum, and receipts that hadn't been filed yet. Files in the side drawers. No file about anyone called 'Havens.' Nothing was missing that he could pinpoint, but then he didn't know what had been in there before the break in.

On top of the desk lay a flat calendar with the full month of August displayed. Small scribbles noting a dentist appointment, an oil change for his car, personal reminders, but not too personal. Perry noticed something tucked into the corner of the calendar, where it had been flipped to look underneath. Several photographs were held together with a paperclip. Carefully, Perry pulled them apart.

The top one was Paul and Junior at the first Dodgers game that they'd ever gone to together. Perry knew because he'd taken the photograph. Junior had been around 7 years old. The second was of Perry, Della, and Paul in the desert. Della was sitting between the two of them, on the back of a jeep, in a light-colored dress, her hand shading her eyes. They all had big smiles because at that moment in time the world had been at their feet and full of possibility.

The third was of Della alone. It appeared to have been taken at a beach and was the newest of the pictures because it was in color. She hadn't aged much from the time it was taken, from what he could tell. She was leaning against Paul's white Ford, her auburn hair wavy from being in the water and her swimsuit was blue and white, with a halter top. She was staring over the ocean, away from the camera, unaware that she was being photographed, her long legs and bare arms were tanned and toned. The sky was tinted red and orange, with a hint of darker blue. It was beautiful; she was beautiful. Perry could understand why Paul had kept this one.

"Have you found anything," she asked from behind him.

"Nothing to do with what may have happened to him, no." He slid the photos surreptitiously into his jacket pocket.

"You?" he asked.

"Perry, it's such a mess that I can't tell, but I didn't find any file labeled 'Havens' either." She took a deep breath, looking around at the chaos. "It's vile. I mean, he's only been dead less than a week."

Perry took her hand and led her to the reception room. "Go ahead and call the police to report the break-in," he suggested. "We'll wait out here until they arrive."

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

The police arrived to take a report about thirty minutes after Della called it in.

Officers took photographs and dusted a few surfaces for fingerprints. It was obvious from their demeanor that they didn't consider it the crime of the century. From chairs in the waiting room, Perry and Della watched as the officers went through the motions, waiting for them to finish. She'd already called a locksmith who was on his way to repair the door. Order would have to be restored to the office and final notices and checks sent out to the operatives who worked for him. Della would assist Margery, his secretary, in getting everything wrapped up, then a decision would have to be made about either allowing someone to take over the business or closing it permanently. Paul's accounts usually ran well into the black, so there was a little time.

Perry knew this was another emotional shot to Della's already wounded heart. He reached over and placed his arm around her to comfort her. She didn't pull away, so he figured that was progress. He had blown it big time with her and it was going to take serious work on his part to earn back that trust and love.

"I think we're all finished here," the officer, with Smart, A., on his name tag, said as he approached them. Perry looked at Della. She'd noticed it, too, and they tried to stifle their smiles. Poor guy.

Another stronger, deeper voice stopped Officer Smart in his tracks. "No, we're not done. Several people followed behind Steve Drumm as he walked into the room, taking it over. "You officers are though. Hit the trail."

Steve gestured to the two serious people behind him who entered Paul's office and closed the door behind them.

He knelt down in front of Della. "How are you doing? I'm so sorry you have to see this place like this. I'm in charge now, and I assure you we'll find out who did this. Why don't you go on home? I'll wait until the locksmith is finished and bring the key by personally."

"Thank you, Steve," Della said gratefully.

Perry stood when she did to escort her out, but a firm grip on his shoulder stopped him. "I politely asked you to butt out of this, Perry."

The big man smiled, "I beg to differ; you weren't that polite."

"Perry, don't get anyone else hurt. Stop whatever it is that you're doing. You're in over your head."

"Since when does homicide investigate a B & E?"

"Perry-"

Good day, Steve," Perry said, taking Della's elbow and escorting her to the elevator.

Perry didn't even think about it when he took her arm. It was a long-time habit. He turned her loose once they stepped inside.

"What was that all about, "she asked, elevating her eyebrows. "Steve sounded pretty upset with you."

"He is and he's upset about what happened to Paul. He also acts more than a little guilty about something."

Della looked at him, contemplating his words. "Perry…. what if Paul ran into something more illegal than just hiding assets from his wife. Something dangerous. That would explain his late-night meetings and phone calls with Steve."

"Wait a minute," Perry stopped after they stepped out of the elevator, into the lobby. "You didn't mention anything about his meeting with Steve. Were you there? When was this?"

"Several times over the last few weeks," Della hesitated, making sure she was accurate. "Well…. usually when Steve came over, he was with his wife or he was just nearby and stopped to say hello. By that I mean, he was inside the house, my house. Paul and I watched tv together at night or ate supper. Lately, he'd been going up to Paul's apartment or they'd talk in the back yard. It didn't seem important. You know, guy stuff."

Perry ran his hand over his beard, thinking. "Have you been inside Paul's apartment since he died?"

"Only to get the suit for his burial. I just can't yet. Junior has been staying there since his father died."

"We need to take a look. I know it will be difficult, but I'll discuss it with Junior," he said.

"Junior won't be back for several days, he left for Joshua Tree, yesterday." Della started the car after Perry got inside. "I don't want to wait until he gets back, Perry. If something is going on, I'd rather not have Junior involved; he's pretty emotional right now."

"Okay, then. It's you and me." Perry smiled at her, and she smiled with her eyes, too, for the first time since he'd been back.

**All mistakes are obviously mine. Thank you for the reviews.


	6. Chapter 6

In Case You Didn't Know 6

Della unlocked Paul's apartment door after insisting to Perry that she had to do it alone. It didn't feel right, allowing anyone else in so soon, and without Junior's permission. The young man had been pretty angry with Perry, and she didn't want to make it worse.

Pushing the door open, the smell that was uniquely Paul was the first thing she noticed. Della actually turned to go back out, unsure that she could do this right now. Instead, she forced herself to close the door and leaned back against it. She absorbed it all: the smell of his cologne; his old leather chair on rollers, in front the desk that he'd bought when he opened his first office on his own. Later when he expanded, he had purchased the larger one he had downtown. His favorite old sneakers when he played basketball with Junior were carelessly dropped in a corner.

Della sat down on the bed and pulled one of his pillows to her face, inhaling deeply. "Oh, Paul," she whispered. She kicked off her shoes and curled up on the bed, holding the pillow, and cried.

She already missed him so much. He was part of her everyday life. Junior came and went, and Perry just went. Paul, she saw every day.

Della had survived the loss of the love of her life once. He was back, but for how long?

Paul couldn't come back. Wouldn't ever come back.

She knew people probably considered Paul and her a couple. They had lots of the same friends, ran in the same circles, had worked together for years. Della didn't care much anymore what people thought.

There was a time when she worried that she'd be considered one of those women who married up, out of her league, if she and Perry went public. A woman who got an M.R.S. degree. She wanted more out of life, no matter how much she loved Perry. She'd seen what happened to intelligent women with any sense of adventure. Once married and beset with children, they were expected to let all that go. Being married and a mother and living the life she had just wasn't done. Besides, at the time, Perry wasn't ready to marry. Sometimes people close to you knew you better than you knew yourself. That was true of her and Perry, and her and Paul. She was sure it was true of Paul and Perry, too.

She remembered back to one night in particular when Paul knew what was better for her than she did.

Perry had been gone for two years when she and Paul stepped out publicly for the first time. The policeman's ball. She'd had a blast. Paul was charming and handsome, and she already knew almost everyone there. Della had waited a long time before being seen in public with anyone else, but especially Paul. She was worried that it would look too much like she was playing musical chairs, or beds.

It had been a long time since she'd let her hair down and wasn't used drinking alcohol like she used to be. She'd imbibed too much, but, in typical Della fashion, she was discrete about it. When it came time to leave, she was toasted.

Paul drove them home and walked her inside first to make sure she was safe. Della went to the kitchen to get a glass of water and carelessly allowed the glass to slip through her hands, smashing it.

"Della, are you all right," Paul called. He'd been checking the house, as he was wont to do. He took her security seriously.

He came back into the kitchen and began helping her pick up the glass, slicing his finger in the process.

"Oh, no, Paul. I'm so sorry," she exclaimed.

"Della, it's fine. It's just a little cut." It bled more than a little cut.

"Let me bandage it," she insisted. Della gathered her first aid kit. She dabbed the cut with alcohol before she applied the bandage.

"Ow, ow, ow! That hurts!"

She laughed, and said, "Stop acting like a baby. I'm almost done." She tenderly wrapped the bandage around his finger. "All done." She smiled at him.

"Nope. You're not," he said, in a smart, pouty way. "You didn't kiss it better."

"I'm sorry." She took his hand and brushed her lips gently across the back of his hand, trying not to touch the cut.

When she raised her head, Paul's eyes were like she'd never seen. He leaned forward and kissed her on the lips, every bit as lightly as she had his hand.

For a few seconds, neither of them moved. Della leaned in and kissed him, hard. It was almost like she was outside herself, watching it happen. She grabbed him by the lapels on his jacket, pulling him to her.

Quickly, it was all lips and hands, and before she knew it, she was sitting on the kitchen table and he was standing between her legs. His hands were under her hair, and she was on fire, feeling him press against her. It had been so long. She was babbling and they were out of control. The top of her dress was down, and she was unbuttoning his shirt, his coat having already been dropped to the floor.

Abruptly it stopped. Paul stopped. She looked up at him, her lips swollen and her eyes full of wanton need.

"When I make love to you, and, it will be love, it won't be on the kitchen table; and you'll be calling me by _my_ name, not someone else's."

She froze. What had she said? "I'm sorry," she said, sincerely.

Paul smiled, "I'm not. Certainly not as sorry as I'm going to be in the morning when I realize what I _didn't do_."

"Oh, Paul," Della placed her hand lightly on the side of his face. She saw wetness in his eyes, in spite of his grin. "You deserve so much more."

"Let's get you to bed. You're still half in the bag, Beautiful."

The next day, neither of them mentioned it, but there was a difference between them, a trimming of the sails. They were tacking in the same direction, and they were good with that.

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

Perry sat on the sofa, waiting for Della to return. He knew this was something that she needed to do on her own. He respected that. He still wasn't sure if Della and Paul had a more intimate relationship. Honestly, at this point, it was none of his business, no matter how much he wanted it to be.

Perry Mason pulled out the letter he'd been given, out of his pocket. No time like the present. He opened the envelope.

It was written in Paul's distinctive hand. There was no date.

Perry,

I'm going to dispense with all the 'if you're reading this' crap. Beating around the bush has never been our style.

We had a lot of great years together. You were one of the best friends I've ever had. I'm sorry that it ended up the way it did, and that we never got a chance to make it right.

You were right when you accused me of being in love with Della. I have been since the day I met her, just like you were. Out of respect for what you two of you had, I kept my feelings to myself. After you left, I tried my best to take care of her and make her happy. If, for one split-second, I believed that she might have married me, I would have asked her, even knowing that I was her second choice. She never stopped loving you. Your loss, pal.

Try to find some peace in this world, Perry. Some peace within yourself. There's nothing wrong with being content; learn how to be happy with your life. Stop searching for something new all the time. Sometimes I wonder if you realized what you had and threw it away because you were so afraid of losing it. Bad behavior shouldn't be a test to see how much someone loves you.

I'm sorry for anything I did to cause this falling-out between us and ask for your forgiveness for the harsh things I said to you when we last met, although I meant most of it.

I want you to know that I forgive you, too.

Take care of yourself,

Paul


	7. Chapter 7

In Case You Didn't Know 7

Perry was asleep on her sofa when Della came back from Paul's apartment. She'd been up there for hours, so she wasn't surprised. It was dark outside, and she was too tired to drive him back to his hotel. She went to the hall closet to get him a blanket, returned, and pulled off his shoes, then tucked the blanket around him. Della turned to walk away, stopped, and reconsidered. She leaned down to place a soft kiss on his forehead. She was glad to see him.

His hand shot out and grabbed hers before she could move away.

"Wait, please." Perry sat up, still holding onto her hand.

Della sat down across from him. The room was dim but he could tell she'd been crying.

"How are you doing," he asked, his deep voice rumbled.

"I don't know. Fine."

"I know you loved him. I did, too, even if I was a jerk about it."

She laughed low. "Most of us have the capacity to be jerks, Perry."

"I got the booby prize for it." He was quiet for a minute. "I read Paul's letter. He had to get the last word, didn't he?"

They both laughed.

"Did you find anything?"

"Yes, a safe that I forgotten he had, concealed in the back of his closet. I have no idea what the combination might be."

"You tried to open it, I assume."

"I tried Junior's birthday. Paul's social security number. His birthday. His mother's birthday. Then I tried them backwards."

He looked surprised. "You know his mother's birthday?"

"Of course, I know your mother's birthday, too."

"I'm impressed. Of course, I've been impressed by you since the first time I laid eyes on you in that awful nightclub."

"The Orange Orchid," they chimed together.

"I'm tired, Perry. I wasn't happy when Arthur gave me the week off, but now I'm glad he did."

"Are you sure that it's okay if I stay here tonight? I can call a cab, if you're the least bit uncomfortable or worried that people will talk—"

"Let them. I've wasted too much time considering other people. I think you'd be more comfortable in a bed though."

"Really?" He smiled, giving her the full dimple treatment.

"The spare room, mister. Come on." She reached down to help him up. He accepted.

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

Della debated with herself the entire time that she was getting ready for bed. She'd already cried until she'd given herself a headache, so she didn't want to start again or she'd never rest tonight. On the other hand, she was curious about the letter. Would it really change anything now? What had Paul told Perry in his letter? It didn't really matter, she realized. What was done couldn't be undone. She probably wouldn't change a thing.

She couldn't believe that Perry was in bed downstairs. There had been so many nights that she considered calling him and telling him that she'd come to San Francisco, but something had always stopped her. If she felt forced into giving up so much just to keep Perry, it would be a mistake. She would lose her self-respect. She wasn't a dog who came to heel because he wanted her to. She wasn't a convenience. That's what irked her at the time and what really brought things to a head.

They'd been out to dinner and Perry had driven them back to her apartment. It was the night before he was flying to San Francisco, and he had pulled out all stops.

It had been a long few days, packing up the office and storing files. It wasn't only exhausting; it was emotionally draining.

"Drink," she asked Perry.

"Sure."

She carried the high ball glass to him, ice clinking in the glass. Della handed it to him as she sat down.

"Thank you," he smiled at her as he said it.

"You're welcome." She looked up into his eyes. "I'm going to miss you."

"You don't have to miss me, you know."

Della wrinkled her brow, and said, "What does that mean? You want me to forget about you?"

"No," Perry said. "You could come with me," he paused, and pulled a blue box from his pocket, "As my wife." He opened the box, and there inside was a beautiful pear-shaped diamond, at least three carats.

She was speechless, and she didn't smile. It wasn't quite the reaction that he'd wanted.

"You don't like it?" His excitement began to wane.

"I love it."

"Then what's the problem? Come with me as my wife. I love you."

"I love you, too."

"So, why not? You wouldn't be my secretary, and we'd be starting over in a new city. A new life."

"Perry, have you heard a word I've said all these years? I don't think it's a good idea right now."

Perry frowned, "Right now. Don't you mean ever, or do you mean for me?"

"No. I mean just what I said." She got up and walked over to a window overlooking the patio. "I think that you're making a terrible mistake. Don't get me wrong; I think you will make a great judge. I just don't think that's where you heart is. You love the hunt, Perry. The thrill of the hunt is what keeps you going whether it's solving a murder, getting off a client, or attaining a woman." Della let her voice trail off.

"I don't like where this is going, Della. Are you saying that if you marry me, you think I'll tire of you?"

She didn't turn around or answer him.

"You think if we get married then I'll lose interest in you. Della, that's not true." He walked over to her and took her by the shoulders, turning her around to face him. "I want to spend the rest of my life with you."

"I believe you when you say you want to spend the rest of your life with me, but it's the hours or days where you find other _interests_ that take your attention away that worries me."

Perry was quiet, cogitating on her words. "You're right. I've been a heel at times. You didn't deserve it, but we'd be married. Things would be different."

"My life is here. My friends. Are you taking this judgeship to push me into marrying you? It's either go with you or let you go?"

He didn't respond. Instead, he pulled her to him and kissed her. Della welcomed him, as she always did. A soft kiss turned into a fire storm. He picked her up and carried her to her bed.

Their lovemaking was fierce and desperate. It was as if they wanted to climb into each other's skin and not ever be torn apart. Sweat slicked bodies and bruising kisses continued through the night; they were insatiable. Around three am, they fell asleep in each other's arms.

The alarm went off at eight, and Della ended up knocking it off, trying to stop the shrill noise. Perry was awake now, and he pulled her body back close to him.

"You are perfection, you know that." Perry kissed down her shoulder, across her breast, down her stomach. He grew erect again, and saw the longing for him in her eyes. Della's cheeks were flushed and she was breathing heavily.

Perry dropped down beside her and pulled her down onto him. Within minutes, Della could feel the intense almost painful orgasm building to a peak. She screamed out his name. He quickly followed her into her into pleasure.

Breathing heavily, he said, "I love you so much."

"I love you, too," she said.

"Go with me," he said.

"Stay with me," she said.

Perry closed his eyes as if he couldn't even believe what he was about to do. He rose, gathered up his clothes, dressed in bathroom.

When he came back out, Della hadn't moved except to cover up. Neither of them said a word.

He leaned down to kiss her and he walked out the door.

The next day, Perry Mason was sworn in as an appellate court judge, in San Francisco.

Della used her nail and opened the letter. He had written it in longhand, not typed. She brushed her finger over the ink, as if by doing it, she might feel Paul.

Dearest Della,

If it hadn't been for you I probably wouldn't have lived as long as I did. You always gave more than you received, but I feel like you gave me the happiest days of my life. Having you and Junior together made me feel like I had finally succeeded in having the family that I always wanted. The trips we took as a family, ball games, watching television, or forcing me to dig holes for all those dang tulips, I was happy. I was so proud when people assumed you were my wife, that you might actually choose a big galoot like me. I wanted to ask you to marry me, but I didn't want to ruin what we had. And for the record, what we had was great. Our more precious moments, I carry with me even now, whether it was your hand on my shoulder, shaving me when that jackass broke my hand, holding my hand, or a kiss. Every second is in my heart.

There are so many things that I wanted to do with you and tell you. It's hard to express in a letter, but it's harder to say out loud sometimes. I want you to know that I loved you from the first moment I laid eyes on you, in case you hadn't figured it out.

I've done everything possible to take care of you and Junior in the future. I know you'll continue to love and guide him. He's going to need it if he's anything like me, and, unfortunately for him, he is. For that reason alone, he'll also love and take care of you.

Perry was a fool to leave you, and unless I am very wrong, and, sadly, I rarely am, he will come to his senses where you are concerned. Give him another chance. He's a slow learner where his emotions are concerned, but he does love you.

I'll do my best to look after you from wherever I end up. Hopefully, it's UP.

Be happy. Take chances. And forgive.

I love you, Beautiful.

Yours always, Paul

**Thank you for the reviews, especially the more detailed ones. It shows me where I hit and miss. This was tough to write. I love and 'ship Perry and Della, but I have to admit, by the end of the letter he sent Della, I was also in love with Paul. He was handsome and charming, and I think he truly loved Della. His friend loved her first though, and Paul was loyal as any friend could be under the circumstances. I hope you enjoy. Happy Labor Day, if you're in the USA. If you aren't, I wish you a lazy day with friends, too.

I may need a few days after this chapter to recharge. I have allow pages to settle and then go back over them to make sure they're hitting the right tone. I will do my best not to go AWOL. 😉


	8. Chapter 8

In Case You Didn't Know 8

The next morning Della was making coffee in the kitchen. Her mind was not on her task, but she could do this in her sleep. A lot weighed heavily on her heart and mind, not the least of which was asleep down the hall, in her guest bedroom. Five years, or around 1800 days, since they had slept in the same house together. it felt like an eternity, but, last night, there was a whisper of what used to be between her and Perry.

"Good morning, Beautiful."

The coffee cups fell from her nerveless fingers and crashed to the floor. She whirled around, knowing it wasn't possible.

"Della?! God, I'm sorry! Are you alright?"

Junior ran to her side. "I didn't think. I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he kept saying.

"I'm fine, Paul. I'm okay," she said. Her pale face said otherwise. "I didn't expect you to come home today."

From down the hall, moving toward the kitchen, both of them heard a loud, deep voice boom, "Della! What's wrong? Are you all right?"

Della couldn't decide who was more surprised, Perry or Junior.

"Della? Why is he here? What in the—"

"Stop, Junior, it's not what it looks like," Perry said, trying to make peace. "We were working late-"

"I'll just bet you were! And don't call me Junior!"

Della gasped, "Paul!"

"How could you?!" Paul demanded.

"Paul, please, don't!" Della reached for his arm, as he stormed out the kitchen door.

"Jesus wept," Perry muttered. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault. I'll deal with this, Perry. Have some coffee. I'll be right back." She followed Junior out the door.

Perry exhaled loudly and deeply.

The door to Paul's apartment was partially open. Junior had slammed it, but, instead of closing, it had hit the wood and bounced back open.

"Paul. May I come in," Della asked, in her smooth voice.

He didn't answer, so she looked inside. The young man was sitting on the floor, at the foot of his father's bed.

"Why did you come back so soon," she asked him. He didn't answer.

"Paul, dear, please talk to me." She said down on the bed, beside him.

"How could you," he asked.

"Paul, not that I have to answer to you for what I do in my own house, but nothing was going on. It was just as Perry said. We were looking for some papers that had to do with a case of your father's, and it got late."

That got his attention. "Why were you two looking at a case of Dad's?" He jumped to his feet. "I knew it wasn't an accident!"

"Paul, calm down, we don't know anything for sure, but…well, your father's office was broken into. It was ransacked, for what we don't have any idea."

"That proves it," he exclaimed.

"It doesn't prove anything, and, besides, Steve Drumm has been leaning on Perry pretty heavily not to interfere with any possible."

"So that's really why Perry spent the night?" He sounded so much like a jealous little boy, she couldn't help but smile.

"Yes. I came up here to look for anything Paul might have brought home. I didn't find anything, except the safe, and I spent some time trying to figure out the combination. Perry fell asleep downstairs. End of story." She shrugged.

"I know the safe's combination," he said, looking smug.

"How do you know?" Della asked.

"Dad used it to lock up his guns. Remember when I got older, and he took me to the range. He gave me the combination in case I ever had to get to one in an emergency."

"Aaannd? What's the combination?"

Junior laughed. "Your birthday."

Della smiled and rolled her eyes at him.

"I came home because I felt like I needed to be here. No matter where I went or what I did, I still missed him. I came back to be with you and be here, where I felt closest to him." The young man leaned his head back against the mattress, and Della ran her fingers through his soft curly hair. She had done that since he was a boy; it comforted him. It comforted her, as well.

"Does it ever get better," he asked.

"I'd like to tell you that it does. Some losses are so deep that instead of healing, they just scab over. You keep on living, but the pain doesn't go away. It does become more bearable. The bad memories and the pain fade and the good memories and love remains."

"I'm sorry for yelling at you, Della." he said, scooting closer to her, his head leaning against her leg. "You're right. It's your house."

Della said, "It's your home, too, dear. This place, your dad's apartment, it's yours now until you're ready to get your own place."

Paul smiled at her. "What if I'm never ready?

She leaned down to hug him. "Then you'll stay, but, trust me, one day, you'll be ready."

"I love you, Della," he said, softly, leaning into her embrace.

"I love you, too," she said, closing her eyes and pulling him in tight. "Always will."

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_.

Perry was reading the newspaper, a cup of coffee in his hand. He looked up when they came into the kitchen together. He could tell from looking at Junior that Della had once against soothed a savage temper.

"Let's have some breakfast, shall we," Della said, getting a pan from the cabinet. "Pancakes or bacon and eggs?"

Perry took the pan from her. "Miss, why don't you go upstairs and get dressed while Paul and I cook breakfast," he suggested.

She nodded in assent, and cast a glance toward Paul to remind him to behave himself.

"So, Paul, tell me a little about your camping trip," Perry began.

Breakfast wasn't as awkward as it could have been. Perry had distracted Paul from his troubled mood, telling him about the case that he, his father, and Della had worked up in the desert. He was telling Paul about them climbing down into the alleged gold mine, and how Della had done it in high heels.

"So," she shrugged. "That should tell you that I could do everything they could do and in HEELS."

Perry laughed. "Della, that has never been in doubt."

********************_***********************x

Steve Drumm took the coroner's report form his sergeant.

"You were right, Captain. Drake died on impact. There was no sign of alcohol or drugs in his body."

"What about that Blazer of his? Did the garage guys ever get back to us with a report?"

"Yes, sir. The brake line had a razor thin cut along the main line. Every time the brakes were touched, fluid sprayed out. It was all over the undercarriage of the car. If the brake line had been ripped or torn in the accident, it would have been a more ragged cut and the brake fluid would have all emptied at the final resting place of the car.

"Damn," Drumm said. "So, it's definitely murder, just like we thought. Mason is going to be all over this," he said grimly.

"Why? Mason was a defense attorney. There's nobody to defend, no client. Plus, he's a judge now. He can't be interfering with our case."

"Since when have you ever known Mason to play by the rules. Oh, he'll stay within the rule of the law, but all other rules are out the window. He's got skin in this game."

"It don't matter, 'cause if we give him the word, he's got to stay out," the sergeant said angrily.

"Maybe. Unless Mason talks Junior into letting him represent him, and he starts formally requesting the information we've gathered so far on Drake's death. We could have him second guessing everything we do or getting to witnesses first if we don't find the files that Paul kept. It won't be long before Mason gets onto Havens and onto his real money making business. If that attorney gets everything stirred up, we could have more than one body on our hands."

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXX_x

"Okay," Junior said, spreading out the papers on the kitchen table after breakfast. "This is everything Dad had in his safe concerning William Havens."

The three sat at the table going through the paperwork.

Della was the first to speak. "Paul had already shared the basic reason for his being hired. This contract goes into much greater detail. Apparently, Vivian Havens wanted a divorce from her husband because he was having an affair with a waitress named Velvet Simmons. Her lawyer, Rob Morris, asked for a disclosure of all assets. The list of assets and income didn't add up. The Havens had a pretty high life style. The income and assets listed that Mr. Havens turned over couldn't begin to pay for the house, cars, and trips that they had acquired and took during the marriage. Paul was hired to find any hidden assets or money that may have been going to this Miss Simmons."

"Havens had another form of income. I'd guess illegally gained or hidden for tax purposes. Is there a list of contacts that Paul talked with?" Perry asked.

"Not that I've found yet, but there's an address for the wife," Della said, triumphantly holding it out.

"What say we pay Mrs. Havens a visit today?"

"Let's go," Junior exclaimed.

Perry and Della exchanged glances.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Perry said.

"Oh, come on, Perry, I've got a right to—"

"Yes, you do, Paul, but let's get one thing straight. If there is something nefarious going on here, and your father's death is a result of his knowledge, the last thing we want to do is connect US to whomever may be behind it."

"What am I supposed to do? Twiddle my thumbs?"

Della placed her hand on his arm. "This is one time that you are going to have to do something you don't like—exercise patience—for your safety."

"Not just yours. If the accident was deliberate, then whoever is behind it could think you or Della know more than you do. You don't want to put Della at risk, do you?"'

"You know the answer to that," Paul said.

"Good, because I want you to do some under the radar research on William Havens' businesses or anyone who might be associated with him," Perry said. "Call me if you find out anything."


	9. Chapter 9

In Case You Didn't Know 9

Della and Perry pulled up outside a Tudor style house, in a neighborhood where such a property would be worth around 3 million dollars.

Della made a whistling sound of admiration.

"Not bad for a guy who sells horse trailers," Perry said. Mr. Havens' primary business was listed as Havens' Horse Haulers.

"Those must be some horse trailers," Della said, dryly.

He smiled at her as they exited her car and approached the house. "Are you ready," he asked.

She nodded yes, and Perry rang the doorbell.

The neighborhood was so quiet, not even a lawn mower was heard. They were about to ring the bell again when a petite, very blonde woman opened the door.

"Yes?"

"Mrs. William Havens?"

"Yes, how can I help you?"

"I'm Perry Mason and this is Della Street. We are—were—friends of Paul Drake, the private investigator that you hired. We'd like to talk to you if you don't mind."

"Paul Drake, the private investigator. Oh, yes, I saw in the Times that he had been…." Mrs. Havens trailed off, unsure how to finish the sentence delicately.

Della answered her, sadly, but subtly switched to a full-on Mati Hari offensive. "Yes, Mr. Drake was tragically killed in a car accident. Mr. Mason and I were friends and associates of his. We wanted to meet with you and make sure that we have all the information needed to ensure any possible concerns about your case are addressed without a lapse in your investigation."

"Of course," she said, "Please come inside."

She walked across a marble floor as they followed her through the two-story foyer. "I was so sorry about the death of Mr. Drake. I liked him very much, and, more importantly, I trusted him. My husband isn't the nicest person in the world," Mrs. Havens said, with a pronounced New Jersey accent. They followed her across a marble foyer to solarium, a large pool with an artificial waterfall filled the French doors across the back of the house.

"Have a seat, and please call me Melissa," Mrs. Havens said, crossing her legs. Her fingernails were unnaturally long, and she tapped nervously on her leg. "What can I tell you? Don't you have Mr. Drake's notes."

"Well, Mr. Drake took a personal interest in your problem, and he treated your personal information quite confidentially. Apparently, he felt that with your husband, he needed to be even more hush-hush than normal. We would like to compare the list of his closest associates with names which you gave to him earlier." Della sat poised with a pen and pad that she had smoothly removed from her leather bag. "Why don't you begin?"

Perry sat back on the sofa, amazed as he always was at Della's skills. He listened as she meticulously withdrew every drop of information possible from Melissa Havens about her wandering husband.

*******************XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX*******************.

Paul had great respect for Perry and Della, but he also had a driving desire to find who was responsible for his father's death. His father had given him safety and a home at a time in his life when he was at his most vulnerable. His mother was an alcoholic and Paul's childhood had been one of insecurity and fretfulness. His mother didn't even tell him he had a father until she left him in the lobby of the Brent Building, what few possessions he had in a paper bag, and an envelope addressed to Paul Drake.

The little boy had stood inside the lobby looking lost until John Baxter, a client of Perry's had stopped to ask him if he was lost. Junior simply handed him the letter, with his father's name on it.

"Young man, I know right where this fellow's office is. You come along with me," Baxter said kindly. He put his hand on the little boy's shoulder and guided him into the elevator.

They made their way to Drake's office. The man with him, let out a heavy sigh, and looked down at him. "I'm sorry, son, it's after six o'clock and no one is here. How about if I take you to a friend of your father's? I've got an appointment with him anyway." Baxter was not unaware of the youngster's distress. He didn't know what was going on, but it didn't appear to anything good.

When Baxter entered Mason's office, his receptionist had already left for the day. The lovely Miss Street had left her office door open and came to greet him when she heard the door close.

The pretty lady knelt down in front of him. "Hello there. It was nice of your father to bring—"

Baxter interrupted her quickly. "Oh, no, Miss Street. This young man isn't mine. He was waiting in the lobby for your friend Mr. Paul Drake. We went to his office, but it was closed up tight."

Paul looked up when a tall, large man almost completely filled the doorway behind the pretty lady. "What's going on, Della?" His voice was deep and Paul thought he was a man who probably bossed people around for a living. The big man also scared Paul. Surely this couldn't be his father, could it?

Baxter relayed the same story to Perry that he had to Della. Now they both had surprise and concern on their faces.

"Mr. Mason, this is obviously an unexpected…. event, so why don't I reschedule my appointment. It's not that urgent. Let's get this boy taken care of," Baxter wasn't known as one of the kindest, most philanthropic men in LA county for nothing.

"Thank you. I believe you may be right. I'll just take this young man inside while Miss Street reschedules your appointment," the man in the door said. He held out his hand to the little boy.

Paul raised huge blue eyes in a pale face to the man.

The man smiled. "It's all right. I know Mr. Drake. It will be safe in here and we will get in touch with him for you. Okay?"

Paul nodded. He took the man's gigantic hand and went with him into an office. In a few minutes, the pretty woman came in and joined them. For a couple of minutes, the two sat on the big desk and looked at each other and back to the little boy, saying nothing.

"Are you hungry," the lady asked, smiling. "I'm hungry, and it is about supper time. How does a hamburger sound?"

"It sounds good, ma'am. But I don't have any money." The little boy turned his pockets inside out, to prove his point.

For a minute, he thought the pretty woman would cry, but the man put arm around her. It seemed to make her feel better because she smiled again.

"That won't be a problem," the big man said. "I'll pay for your hamburger, and later you can get me one." He finally smiled with his eyes and his mouth.

"I think that sounds pretty good, sir."

The pretty lady walked over and took his hand. "Would you come with me? Maybe find a bathroom and wash your hands?"

"Yeah."

"My name is Della and this man is Perry Mason. What's your name, sweetie?"

"My name is Paul, but my mama calls me Junior."

He didn't know what he had said that was so bad, but the lady had to sit down on the sofa. The big man named Perry shook his head and raised his eyebrows.

*****************XXXXXXXXXXXXXX*****************.

Paul had gathered all that he could from downtown at Chamber of Commerce. On the surface, Havens was a successful businessman. He sponsored small amateur rodeos, providing prize money and glad handing. Allegedly, Havens had political aspirations. He liked to think of himself as a modern-day cowboy. At least that's how he portrayed himself in his television ads and interviews. No known associates with criminal histories, but a man with money could hide a lot. He'd learned that from his father. He'd also learned to use what he had at his fingertips, so he called one of his father's best operatives, Ramon Escobar.

Ramon had some underground connections because he'd once worked undercover for the LAPD in narcotics and vice. The brass got to be too much to deal with, and he took his 25 and out. Since he'd hit a wall, and he'd promised Perry to stay away from the Havens, Paul decided to call in a professional for a advice and assistance. Paul had called Ramon and set up a meeting at once of their old haunts, The Blue Grill, on Sepulveda. Whoever killed his father was going to pay, he'd make damn sure of it.

***************************XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX********************x

Perry and Della pulled away from Mrs. Havens' home, with him driving this time. Della was going through her notes, sorting through key elements that needed further looking into.

"How about lunch, young lady?" Perry asked, glancing over at her while she scribbled away. He could remember hundreds of times they'd been doing this very sort of thing throughout the years. He'd missed it. He had made a mistake, but would he have the guts to tell her.

"Perry, I think we've got some leads here. We could begin with contacting some of the rodeo people that Havens associated with. Mrs. Havens gave me at least three names here," Della said, not looking up.

"So, lunch, then back to the house? We can find out what Paul may have found. And we can make sure that he doesn't go off half cocked and confront this guy he thinks may have been behind killing his father," Perry replied.

Della looked up finally, and said, "Surprise me. You know all my favorites, and most of them haven't changed."

He smiled warmly at her. "That I do, Miss Street, so how about a roast beef sandwich from Bergman's Deli. Is that still at the corner of Bennet and Westwood?"

"You remembered?" She marveled at his recall. "I second that motion. You know I always think better when I'm fed."

He laughed. "Don't I, though, and a woman's gotta eat." Perry's eyes were glowing with happiness, even under the circumstances, he was just happy to be in her presence. No, he was blessed to be in her presence.


	10. Chapter 10

In Case You Didn't Know 10

When they arrived back at Della's house, there was no sign of Paul except a note and a folder with "Havens," written across it. On the note was written " _Back later tonight. Don't worry, Della, and don't_ _wait up. Got a line on something. Love you, PDJ_."

"Goodness, you don't think he's gotten into something dangerous, do you," she exclaimed, breathlessly.

Perry didn't say what he thought, which was 'yea, he probably has.' Instead he answered, "I'm sure he hasn't. He knows how important this is, and, more importantly, he wouldn't put you in danger."

Della gave him the look that said she though he was full of manure, but she didn't challenge him. She wanted to believe him.

"I'm going upstairs to change. These heels are killing me, and I want out of this skirt," she told him as she disappeared around the corner. She didn't see his elevated eyebrow and nostalgic look. He remembered when 'changing into something more comfortable' meant something else entirely.

Perry took off his jacket, hanging it on the back of the chair. He opened the folder and scanned some of the information that young Mr. Drake had compiled. Not bad, he mused. Not bad at all.

In a few minutes, Della came back down the stairs in a pair of jeans, a white cotton shirt, and a pair of Keds. Her hair was fluffy from pulling clothes off over her head. Perry thought she looked adorable.

"What?" She looked at him, not understanding at all what he was smiling about.

"Nothing." His face suddenly sobered. "Why did it take something so horrible for me to come back? I've missed you so much." She was shaken when she saw the tears in his eyes. "I've been a damned fool," he hissed, angry at himself.

Della didn't rush to him like she used to and try to make it better. This situation was something he had done to himself and he needed to feel the consequences. That didn't mean she enjoyed his pain. Far from it. It broke her heart, too. She turned away and went back upstairs, giving him the space, he needed.

About half an hour later, she heard his footsteps on the stairs. She was lying on her bed, awake just resting. The past week had been one of the worst of her life. When Perry was ready he would let her know.

He paused outside her bedroom, saw her looking at him, and knocked on the door jam.

"Come here," she said, holding out her hand. God help her; she still loved him. She always had and always would.

Perry kicked off his shoes, pulled off his belt, and crawled onto the bed behind her. Della turned and allowed him to pull her to his massive chest. He smelled so good. He smelled familiar. He smelled like hers.

******************************XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX*************************

Paul and Escobar watched Havens' Horse Haulers all afternoon. Most of the customers were tire kickers or knew what they wanted when they arrived and just had to narrow down their choices. Paul had pulled up several photos of Havens and had made copies. He was of medium height, medium build, but he had a large bushy red beard that looked as if hadn't been trimmed since he was 13 years old.

After several hours a large vehicle hauler arrived and two straight load horse trailers and two stock trailers were put onto it. It was the first delivery that they'd seen so they decided to follow it, as it turned out, all the way to San Diego.

*********************************XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX*****************.

Della woke suddenly. It was late afternoon or early evening. She couldn't tell. Perry had pulled the drapes and darkened the room. She felt rested for the first time in days.

She popped into the bathroom to erase any mascara smudges and calm down the curls, then headed downstairs.

Perry was seated again at the kitchen table going over the information on Havens' that they'd abandoned earlier. He looked up as she came in.

"Well, sleepy head, how do you feel?" His eyes were tender.

"How long did I sleep, Perry? Goodness, you should have woken me," she sat beside him and picked up one of the papers, off the table.

"You needed it," he said, in that bold way he had. "I've gone through about half of these. There's some interesting math going on here."

"Has Paul called to check in," she asked, eyes scanning the sheet.

"Not yet," he said, and placed his hand over hers. "He's a big boy."

Della gave him a cut of her eyes and said, "He may be, but things happen to 'big boys,' too, don't they?"

Perry couldn't argue with that and changed the subject.

"Look at this. For the first four years, Havens is barely keeping his head above water. In fact, one of the years, he's running in the red. In year five, he isn't selling any more inventory, but he is less in debt. Within another year, there is an expansion of inventory. Havens is also a sponsor on the PRCA, California circuit, both prize money and equipment." Perry handed her the sheet where he'd made his notes.

"What, pray tell, is the PRCA?"

"That is the Professional Rodeo and Cowboys Association. How could you not know that, Della?" He grinned at her.

"Of course, it is, "Della said. "Mr. Havens has money coming in the business that he apparently hasn't reported and is most likely from illegal gains. If they happened to have learned that Paul was investigating for the wife, it's possible, they thought—" She abruptly stopped.

"That he had stumbled onto whatever it is that the husband is involved in. And, it's probably the reason behind Paul's alleged accident."

She shuddered. "We need to find Junior. You know how he is Perry! There's no telling—"

"Della, sweetheart, he'll be home soon." He rose to his feet and pulled her up and into his arms.

"We should never have involved him. I should never have told him," she said, clutching him.

"The situation got out of our hands. He needed an explanation as to why I was here, and you did the only thing that you know how to do—tell the truth." He pulled her tighter, praying he was right.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX*****************.

Paul and Escobar followed the car hauler to Escondido where two of the trailers were dropped off at a stable. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, so the two of them continued to follow the last two trailers to San Diego. These two didn't go to a ranch or stable, instead, the hauler turned into a truck stop off I-10, close to the border, right across from Tijuana.

"What do you think," Paul asked his companion. "Could that be Sergio Ortigoso?"

"I doubt it. The big man himself isn't going to come out to take care of grunt work. These guys are just hired to pick up the trailers and whatever may be inside. They take the risk. Ortigoso takes the cash."

"Figures," Paul muttered.

Escobar said, "Hey, you know how the world works. You dad was the best in the business."

"Yea, he sure was," the young man said proudly.

"Hey," Escobar said, "They're dropping the hauler."

Sure enough, the original truck pulled around to the back of the truck stop where the lights were few. The driver got out and unhooked cables and lines. He then proceeded to extend the legs down to where he could drop the trailer. Once that was done, the original driver pulled out and never looked back.

"I think we've just found one of their drop spots," the older man said. "So, we'll just wait, and see who comes to pick it up."

Neither of the two men in the nondescript sedan watching the trailer noticed the men who had been following them.

Thanks for the reviews.*****I am in NC preparing for Hurricane Florence. I have been and will be delayed. I will do the best I can. I have a feeling that the weekend is going to be a washout, so if I have power…...


	11. Chapter 11

In Case You Didn't Know 11

It was nearing midnight and still there was no sign from Paul. Della was quietly frantic.

Perry handed her a strong drink. "This won't make it better, but it may help you relax a bit."

Della clutched the glass without speaking, took a large sip, and felt the familiar woodsy burn down her throat. She leaned back on the sofa, trying to relieve the stress in her neck and shoulders.

Perry sat down in Paul's recliner, noticing that it was wonderfully comfortable. "I'm guessing Paul is the one who broke this chair in so well. I can't believe that he finally convinced you to allow one," he said, smiling slightly.

Della's mouth turned up on one side. "You should have heard his argument. He swore it was an absolute necessity because if I was going to force him to eat like a rabbit, then he was going to have to at least rest like a human because he'd be too weak to sit upright."

Perry laughed. "I'm glad he was here."

"You weren't so glad when the two of you met last," she said, drolly.

"No, I wasn't. I was an ass. When we parted, I was an ass with a black eye, which in retrospect, I deserved."

She studied him over the rim of her glass, her eyes curious. "What did happen and how did the two of you _chance_ to meet?"

For an awkward moment, Perry didn't answer. Finally, he admitted, "He came to see me in San Francisco, about, oh, a couple of weeks after I was sworn in."

"Whaaat?!" Della sat upright on the sofa, and the easy tone in her voice changed to disbelief. "He didn't! All those years ago! He never told me that," she exclaimed.

"Oh, he did, indeed. He told me exactly what a sonofabitch he thought I was for leaving and hurting you. I told him to mind his own damn business. The conversation went downhill from there," Perry grumbled. "He was right. The more I tried to tell him to mind his own business, the angrier he got." The big man looked down, then he finally answered. "He said that you were his business."

Della considered the claim quietly.

Perry leaned forward and clasped his hands together. "He never told you the details?"

"No. Simply that the two of you had 'run into each other' and 'had a difference of opinion.'"

He expelled a self-deprecating huff. "There was no difference of opinion. I was an ass all right, but I was intractable and wouldn't admit it."

He clasped his hands together in front of him, and looked into her enigmatic, sensual hazel eyes. "Della, I need to tell you why I thought you and Paul were together." Perry told her about his serendipitous meeting with Hamilton Berger, in San Francisco. "When I looked at the photograph, I honestly believed, that you had made a new life with Paul and Junior. Moved on without me. I caught sight of exactly what I had what given up. I felt angry and betrayed, with no right to feel that way."

Della breathed out, "Perry, I'm not sure you want to have this conversation right now. I'm definitely not sure that I want to."

"The relationship that the two of you had was none of my business. That said, it doesn't mean that it didn't and doesn't still hurt."

"I don't think you want to go there, Perry. Not yet." Her face was inscrutable.

He abruptly set his glass down on the table. "You are probably right. I don't want to leave tonight until you hear from Paul. Would it be all right…?" He gestured down the hall with his eyes.

Della released a breath that she didn't realize she'd been holding. "Please. Stay until I hear something."

He was getting ready for bed, using the new toothbrush that his host had given him from her stash. She should have a tattoo that read _Semper Paratus_ , he laughed to himself. Perry heard a light tap on the bedroom door.

"Come in."

"Are you decent?" Della called from behind the door.

"Absolutely not, but I'm dressed," he called, with a smile in his voice.

Della came in and in her hand was a pair of pajamas that he recognized. "I couldn't throw them away for some stupid reason." They were his own clothes. It was a small gesture, but it represented something much larger.

"Thank you," Perry murmured.

"Good night," was all Della said as she pulled the door closed behind her.

************************************************XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX&***************.

Perry checked his watch and the illuminated dial on his Omega showed 1:45. The sound of a phone ringing and movement upstairs told him Della was obviously awake. Soft padded footsteps down the stairs confirmed his supposition that it probably had something to do with Junior. He was sitting up with his feet on the floor when he heard the knock on his bedroom door.

"I'm up, Della. Come in." He reached out and turned on the lamp beside him, on the antique oak table that he recognized because it had come from her Aunt Mae's house.

"Perry?" She was almost breathless with apprehension. "I'm sorry to wake you."

"Was it Paul," he asked.

"No," she murmured. "It was a wrong damn number." Della inhaled deeply in an attempt to stifle a sob.

Her former lover lightly pulled her down beside him on the soft duvet. "Della, he's fine. He's okay. He's not going to be when I find him for making you worry so," he threatened, only half kidding.

"Oh, Perrry!" Tears, which were never a big part of Della Street's repertoire, trickled down her beautiful cheekbones.

"Come here," he said, as he sheltered her in a warm embrace and softly kissed her curly hair.

"How about if I make you a glass of warm milk or hot chocolate? That used to work wonders, if I remember correctly." He still held her and his breath tickled against her hair.

"No. Please. Don't move. Not yet." She molded to his big warm body

"I tell you what, Miss Street, you stay here with me, just for a bit." Perry smiled as he scooted over on the bed making sure to leave extra room. He patted the bed. "If you can trust me to be a gentleman…"

Della's face was a blend of doubt, amusement, and, unfortunately, affection. An abrupt decision and she lay down by his side. Trying not to startle or spook her, he pulled her slowly but snugly again his broad chest.

"Rest, baby. Just relax. I'm here, and I'm not ever going anywhere. We'll wait together for whatever comes." His deep rich voice, the warmth of his body, and the dear comfort of his touch was like a charmed elixir and Della felt the anxiety melt away.

Perry was unable to sleep, reveling in once again having this wonderful, irreplaceable woman in his arms. He never thought he'd have the exquisite pleasure of holding her again. His hands moved into familiar curves, and the unique bouquet that was Della Street surrounded him like an aura, shielding him from the world, just like she always had. He had been a god-damned fool, and, if she found she could ever trust him again, he would never again betray her trust. Her hair had gray strands now, but the chestnut still fought for territory. Her eyes were sadder than he ever remembered. Perry had been petrified for over 25 years, since he'd been struck like a thunderbolt-both in his heart and mind-that he loved Della Street more than any woman he'd ever met or ever would. Deep down he had always been terrified he might lose her.

Paul had him pegged perfectly in his letter. The talented and gifted attorney had also been searching for more and more unknown adventures and challenges his entire life. The thrill of the hunt, Della had called it.

Paul and Della had both been right. His unending search for novelty and rousing adventure had cost him the woman who had always been right beside him; she had been his rock and his North Star since he was a wet behind the ear's attorney. An essential part of his accomplishments could be attributed to her. Perry's realization that without her he was nothing, no matter how much success he attained, came soon after he'd left. The sharp jagged edge of her loss would never ever let him make the same mistake twice.

Eventually, he succumbed to sleep. When he awoke, Della had turned into him, her chin under his, and her hand on his chest. Perry could feel his body start to respond to her, as he always did. He didn't want to alarm her, so he eased himself out of bed, without waking her.

Later when she woke, Perry had coffee and English muffins prepared. The two met halfway in the center of the kitchen. No embarrassment. No awkwardness.

They were still sitting at the kitchen table when Captain Steve Drumm announced his arrival by his angry use of the doorbell.

**I want to thank you for your wishes for our safety. I am also deeply appreciative of your reviews and your personal messages. I am listening to suggestions and the things you like. I hope you are all well. Happy Autumn! May we all have some cooler weather.


	12. Chapter 12

In Case You Didn't Know 12

"I think you both better sit down," Steve Drumm announced grimly, as he passed by Perry who had opened the door to let him in.

Della's hands flew to her mouth, as she sank to the sofa. "Oh, no! What's happened?

Perry hurried away from Drumm and stood beside Della, his large hand tight on her shoulder.

"Does either of you know what Paul, Jr., was supposed to be doing this evening? He wasn't on some crazy errand for you, was he, Perry?" Steve's face was grim and his eyes were angry.

"No, he was not," Perry snapped at him. "Stop upsetting Della, and spit it out whatever it is. Is Paul all right?"

"I honestly don't know. He and another man were spotted following equipment from William Havens' business. I asked you to stay out of this, Perry. I didn't think I was going to have to call in each one of you individually. I have officers who also spotted you and Della at Mrs. Havens' residence earlier."

Steve sat down uninvited on the sofa like he was suddenly deflated.

"We didn't send Paul anywhere except the library and a few other places to do research," Della said in indignation. "We thought he couldn't possibly get into trouble there."

"Unfortunately, you are wrong. Our young Mr. Drake contacted someone whom we believe to be a former employee of his father's. The two of them followed a car hauler from Havens' business, to an exit off the 10, near Tijuana. The trailers were abandoned there, where I'm positive another driver and truck would hook up and take them on to another destination."

The LAPD captain took a deep breath, in an attempt to steady his frustration and aggravation. "We never got to find out because Paul and his sidekick were spotted by men already waiting there. Two men forced them into the back of a van at gunpoint. If we hadn't spotted them, no one might never know what had happened to them.

"We had our undercover unit, who wasn't spotted, thank God, follow the vehicle. We had, of course, expected them to head for the Mexican border, but, instead, they headed up the mountains, eventually turning toward Big Bear. I ended up calling in a helicopter to keep track of them. It would have been too easy to lose them if the van turned off a side road and killed the lights.

"If Havens and his people think that they've been burned then they won't be back for the trailer, so we can go over it at least, maybe get some information as to what they're involved in. Since we've never had enough for a warrant. No one has returned for them, and I don't think they will."

Della's hand was on upper chest and her face was pale. "So, he's still all right as far as you know," she said, almost pleading.

"As far as we know Della, but we don't have eyes inside the van or wherever they're taking him."

"I'd like to know why you had surveillance on Havens to begin with, and if it had anything to do with Paul's death. I asked you earlier, Steve, what was going on, but you refused to discuss it. Perhaps if you had, Junior might not be in the danger he's in now," Perry barked.

"You didn't have the authority or the need to know, and you still don't, _Your Honor_ ," Steve loudly declared, jumping to his feet.

"Steve, for god's sake, we're talking about Paul, Della and Junior, your friends. You and I used to be friends, colleagues, and you didn't believe they had a right to know that Paul may have been murdered?" Perry was outraged that he hadn't shared his suspicions with family and friends. These weren't average civilians; they'd been involved with the legal system in one way or another for a long time.

"Are you just being a bastard because of my being here and you're angry with me, or because you just don't give a damn anymore about the people you've sworn to protect and serve," Perry's biting comment drew blood.

"Wait just a damn minute, Perry, you're outta line!" Steve moved closer to him, as angry as he'd allowed himself to be in a long time.

The two men were inches apart and the testosterone was so thick you could smell it. In seconds, one or both of them was going to be seriously in trouble for assault.

Della unexpectedly stepped between the two furious men. "That's enough," she said sharply.

Perry and Steve both took a step back, breathing heavily and faces red with tempers flaring.

"Pardon me, _gentlemen_ , but I want the two of you to stop this pissing contest right now. It isn't Perry's or my fault that Junior is in danger. Big Paul is gone, and that young man is devastated."

Neither of them had ever heard Della use such crude language before, but she was far from finished.

"Steve, you knew more about Paul's death than you told us, and that information may have kept that boy from going off on his own because he didn't think the police were giving it the attention it deserved. I defended you, the police, telling him to just give you time, but I'm telling you—if it's anyone's fault, it's yours."

Della deliberately stepped into Steve's personal space, her height almost a match for his. "I'd advise you to tell me everything you know about Paul's death. You owe me that, dammit, or I'm going to have Perry call the Chief of Police, the members of the police commission, the damn governor- I don't care who, but you are going to tell me NOW!"

Perry had seen the tiger in Della, very few times had he seen her claws out for blood. Steve Drumm had not. He was dumbstruck and actually took a step backwards and held up his hands instinctively in a defensive posture.

"Fine, all right. Can we please sit back down? I'll try to tell you what you need to know."

The big lawyer cautiously took her arm and guided her back to a seat opposite the homicide detective. Perry had a feeling this wasn't going to be good.


	13. Chapter 13

In Case You Didn't Know 13

"Della may have told you that Paul and I spent a great deal of time together these last few years," Steve said to Perry, the grief he'd been holding inside was visibly taking its toll. "We're on the same bowling team, sorry, we _were_ on the same team. I asked him about his cases, just generally, you know. Shooting the bull." He looked down at the floor as if he was looking back into the past.

"Paul happened to mention in passing about this guy that he was looking into for his wife. She thought he was hiding money from her. The guy's business was selling horse trailers.

Paul sorta laughed about it because he considered it a routine divorce case, however, the more he talked about it, the more I realized that this guy sounded familiar somehow. At last it came to me; I'd heard some detectives in our department bitching about having to work in conjunction with the IRS. The Feds thought that this same guy that Paul was investigating could well be money laundering for this dangerous Mexican drug lord."

"Is there any other kind," Perry asked, drily.

Steve laughed, but there was no humor in it. "I was afraid that Paul might be getting into something much riskier than he realized. I tried to warn him off, told him about the Mexican connection and that it was just a matter of time til the IRS caught this loser. Paul and I trusted each other, so we compared notes on and off for a couple of weeks. He was strong-minded and was determined to stick with it. You know Paul." The policeman caught his present tense use again and cringed. He couldn't imagine how awful it was for Della and Junior.

Steve looked over at Della, and said, in an apologetic tone, "He was really bothered about how worried and angry you'd be if you found out that he was bringing this kind of work home. Especially if the two of us we were involved in exchanging information about a dangerous criminal investigation."

Della pushed a hand underneath her hair nervously; it was damp and she felt like she might be having an anxiety attack. There was so much more to this than she could have imagined, and all of it had transpired right under her nose. _How_ _could she have missed it_? She would have noticed it if it had been Perry all those years ago. Guilt was drowning her.

"You're right, Della. It's my fault," Steve Drumm continued. "Paul made a connection with someone within Havens organization who called him and asked to meet up at Big Bear, a place called Geena's Bar and Bait Shop. Paul met with whoever it was, and, afterwards, he called and told me he had something that I needed to see. Something that would break the case wide open. From the sound of Paul's voice, I could tell the situation was serious. Little did I know." Steve stopped talking.

Perry rose and went into the kitchen and brought him back a glass of water, which he took thankfully, downing it all before finally placing the glass on the table beside him.

"I knew that Paul would be coming down Hwy 18, and before Running Springs, he told me he'd be taking the 330, then on to the 210. We were going to meet at the Royal Truck Stop, near Colton. I waited an hour after he was supposed to show. I tried to call him even though I knew there wouldn't be any damn reception. I decided to leave and head in his direction. On the way, I was passed by a fire truck along with the rescue squad." Steve paused. It was as if the words were being squeezed from his soul. "I knew whatever they were responding to had to be bad. It was way worse than I could ever-it was Paul's car."

By now, Della was weeping, and Perry had moved to sit down beside her on the sofa, his large, powerful arm around her shaking shoulders.

"I would have insisted on going with him, but he was already on his way when he let me know. He refused to wait. Said he had to be there at a certain time or this guy would walk. He was even scared to talk to Paul.

"When forensics went over the remains of Paul's Chevy, they found the brake lines had been deliberately cut. I don't know the call he received was a set up or if he and his informant were spotted at the meet. Maybe Paul was considered too big a risk, too nosy. Too good really. I have no idea what happened to whomever it was whom he met.

Steve scooted to the edge of his seat and tried to reach for Della's hands. She refused to even meet him halfway. "God, Della, I'm sorry that I couldn't tell you both what I didn't know for sure yet, whether it might be murder. I should have forced Paul out of the inquiry. But I didn't. _I didn't."_

Steve stood up suddenly and headed to the hall bathroom. They heard water splashing for a few minutes.

"Oh, Perry," Della cried, placing both of her hands on his stolid chest. "How could I have not known this? I might have talked him out of it."

He pulled her in tight. "It's not your fault. None of this is your fault. Maybe Paul's. Steve's. Maybe mine for leaving and not being here, but never yours, baby. Never."

"So, what now," Perry demanded, when Steve Drumm returned. "What about Junior?"

"I'll let you know as soon as I hear anything more. You have my word. I won't leave you hanging in the wind again. I will do everything in my power to get Junior out safe and sound. I promise you."

He knelt down in front of Della. "I'm sorry. I know that's not enough, but it's all I have right now."

She fought to keep herself from slapping his face, instead, she opted for, "Bring him home safe and sound."

The LAPD detective made solid eye contact with Perry, letting him know his word was good on this, to trust him. He turned away without being able to look back at the heartbroken woman on the sofa and his old friend, and Steve pulled the door shut quietly behind him.


	14. Chapter 14

In Case You Didn't Know 14

***Any and all mistakes are mine, and I apologize for any proofreading errors that I didn't catch and correct. I hope you enjoy.

Paul's head snapped back again, and blood and spit splattered the wall behind him.

"It's just going to get worse, boy."

The guy whose hands he was beating the hell out of with his face looked like a walking ad for a white pride membership rally. He was bald, tall, and had a skull tattoo with burning eyes on his throat. There were companion pieces of ink, a weeping Jesus on his right arm, and a swastika on his left. That sort of put this guy's philosophy into conflict, Paul mused sarcastically to himself, half out of it.

"Who were you looking for at the truck stop? Who are you working for? You're even too dumb to be cops. We picked you up easy. Hell, you didn't even know we were there til we snatched your dumb asses." The man laughed and called him a pendejo.

The young man spit blood from his mouth to the floor. "I don't know what you're talking about, mister. Like my friend told you, we were looking to pick up some women who might be looking for a good time _for cash_. That's all," Paul said, repeating the same story again. "You know how it is, man. We wanted a good time."

The Hispanic man across the small room also had his share of supernatural tats, along with a tear drop under his right eye; he sat watching his fellow thug work him over. The two of them had started with Escobar, and then Paul had just followed his story's lead. That seemed like the best course of action, and besides he didn't know what else to do. Paul was sure of one thing though—he was getting seriously tired of having the crap kicked out of him. For now, he just stuck to the original story and wished to God that he'd left Della and Perry a more detailed message. Note to self, he thought, listen and do as you're told next time. _If there is a next time_.

"Toss the kid in with his compadre for a while, Charlie. I'm sick of lookin' at him, and one of us needs to make a beer run. I'm getting thirsty, comprende, amigo?" Then the Hispanic man muttered more to himself, "Why the hell couldn't one of these hijo de puta's have been a woman?"

Charlie agreed with his friend. "Yeah, I'll go. I need to get the hell out of here for a while. You babysit, Jorge."

Without waiting for an answer, he pulled Paul up from his chair and half walked/half dragged the young man into a bedroom and dumped him onto the filthy linoleum floor. Charlie shut the door and slammed a heavy bolt into place.

Paul crawled over to Escobar who was in worse shape than he was. Checking him over, he found that the older man was unconscious, but not dead, thank goodness.

The two men, Charlie and Jorge, as he now knew their names, had grabbed them and shoved them into a panel van. After a drive that he thought would never end, they'd eventually arrived here at this derelict cabin. The house, from what he could make out, was held together by bad memories. The porch had collapsed on one side, and there was a tarp flapping in the wind on top of the house.

Even knowing that he was in grave danger, all he could think about was his dad and Della. Paul could smell the fragrant pine and dry earthy smell of the mountains. He'd learned in college psych courses that smell was most closely related to memory. He was having vivid memories now of the times he'd spent camping and on fishing trips up here with his dad and Della, and, long ago, Perry, too. Some of the greatest times of his life.

His stomach felt like it cramped from the ache of his dad's death. Paul would gladly give up years off his life if only he could have him back. All the stupid, juvenile, shit that he'd pulled in his life, all the trouble he'd gotten into, and the pain and worry he had put them both through. If only he could do it all over.

Paul leaned against the wall, his face pulsing with pain. He probably had a tooth or two loose. As he sat watching over Escobar, the young man wondered how many millions of people per day wished they could have a do-over, too, and how much they'd sacrifice to get it.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX***.

SWAT surrounded the cabin and with the help of night vision goggles they watched one of the men get into the vehicle and leave. He would get less than two miles away before he was arrested by officers lying in waiting for him. One down.

Steve Drumm called to let Perry and Della know that they had located Paul and had taken into custody one of the men responsible. He was also forced to let them know in case they saw something unsettling on television. Reporters listened to police radios and scanners, and they had found out there was an incident in progress involving SWAT. It was hard to miss the location; it was easy to spot all the government vehicles.

Steve promised that the police were close to having the second man in custody and soon they would have Paul back safe and sound. It wasn't quite the truth, but it was the best he could do at the moment. And he had given them his word.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXx*********.

The police cruiser dropped Perry and Della at the ER entrance. Steve Drumm was waiting for them outside the hospital, his arms crossed.

"I'm sorry I couldn't come for you myself, but I knew you'd want to see him as soon as possible. Come on," he said, leading them inside through the pneumatic doors to the treatment area. "I'll give you tonight, and tomorrow give you a break down of what happened tonight."

Perry was as protective as a mama grizzly bear of Della, who didn't have the ability to speak as she rushed down the hallway behind Steve. All she wanted was to see her boy. Touch him. Know for certain that he was alive.

Perry understood that and shared her concern. Nothing was going to stop her until she saw him for herself.

Steve stopped at the last bed. Stepping around a curtain, there they found Paul. One of his eyes was as swollen as big as a boiled egg. Dark crusty blood had clotted in and beneath his nostrils and his lips were broken open and swollen. He had blood in one of his ears.

Paul was keeping up a good front as a tough guy-until he saw Della. In the seconds it took her to reach him, she was already crying. When she put her arms around him, he completely fell apart.

Steve and Perry discretely slipped away to talk. Men got hurt around each other and they sucked it the hell up. If a guy got hurt and his mom arrived to comfort him, the other guys walked away. They understood. Hell, _it was his mom_.

Paul was admitted for observation overnight. The staff still wanted to do more x-rays, and they needed to wait for the on-call technician. Two doctors, three nurses, and finally Paul and Perry eventually convinced her that the young man would be safe and in good hands the rest of the night.

Once he removed Della from Paul's room, she tried to hide her exhaustion, physical and emotional. Perry wondered if it would help her to stay overnight to rest, but wisely he didn't suggest it.

The two were given a ride home at taxpayers' expense.

Once there, Perry insisted on helping her up the stairs and started to run her a bath. She put up no resistance at all.

"Come on, Della. It's warm and bubbly, the way you like it. It will help you sleep like a baby," Perry called over the sound of running water.

Turning off the faucet, he left the bathroom to find her asleep on the bed, shoes and coat still on. She looked like she'd just fallen over and gone to sleep. There were tear marks on her face and had left rivulets through her makeup. Sitting down on the bed, he tenderly brushed a tendril of curly hair off her forehead. Even now, as he saw her as the woman she was, he saw into the past and saw her at 30, 40, and 50. Still gorgeous and classy. She was just damn near perfect. Hell, he wasn't sure she wasn't.

Perry got up and gently pulled off her shoes, managed somehow to get her jacket, skirt, and hose off without waking her. He tucked her into her usual side of the bed, which hadn't changed since he'd left, he noticed. Kissing her cheek, he turned and headed back for the bathroom, dropping all his clothes on a chair outside the bathroom door. No sense in wasting the bubble bath. He could use a soak, maybe he could he cogitate on how exactly he could prove to her that he wanted to be back in her life, for good, that he might possibly be worth it.

The big man carefully slid into the oversized tub and allowed the water to come up all the way to his beard. Closing his eyes, he tried to unknot the incredible amount of muscle tension that he'd acquired over the last two days. He'd almost succeeded when he was startled.

"Make yourself at home, Counselor," Della's sultry voice wove through him, igniting a slow burn of desire for her that had never left him.

Perry smiled before he opened his eyes. "Guilty as charged, Miss Street. I didn't see any reason to waste it." He peered up at her with those mesmerizing indigo eyes. "I would have bet good money that you were down for the count."

Della was in her panties and shirt, sexy, long legs exposed as she stood there taking him in. Perry was well aware that he'd gained more than a few pounds. He was self-conscious about it. He forgot all about his weight when she started to unbutton her while silky blouse and allowed it to flutter to the floor.

"Is there room for one more," she almost purred. There was a challenging look in her eyes.

"Are you sure?" Perry wanted this intimacy, but not at the expense of her peace of mind.

"No. But this last ten days ranks up there in the top three worst of my life. I'm cutting myself some slack on the "Is this the right thing to do?" front. Maybe not. But it's the thing I'm going to do _right now_."

He smiled. "The water is fine; come on in."

Della slid the bra straps off her arms slowly, one at a time, well aware that her former lover was watching her movements. After that, she stepped out of her matching pink underwear and left them where they dropped.

The lawyer swallowed hard, maybe gulped. He couldn't take his eyes off her as she gracefully slid into the other end of the tub and sank up to her neck.

She moaned in relief and pleasure.

Perry was frozen in place.

"Are you ok," she asked him, smiling slightly.

"Miss Street, yes, ma'am, I am. I'm…. speechless."

"Good, no talking for a while," she murmured. "Let's rest," she whispered. "No expectations. No disappointments. No grief. No heartbreak. Just the two of us inside our own little world for tonight at least."

While his mind was still swirling and his heart pounding, Della slid in between his legs, leaning against his chest. "Let's just _be_ ," she murmured.

Perry lay his powerful arms along the tub sides and tried not to press. He was all for _just being_ tonight, following her lead.


	15. Chapter 15

In Case You Didn't Know 15

Her bedroom was in predawn light when Della awakened. Perry's bare skin was comfortably warm against hers. They were spooned together and his powerful arm lay on her curved waist. The scent of him, of them combined, made her want to make love to him again. Their chemistry in bed had never been the problem. She lay still trying not to overthink the events of the night before. Honestly, sex was the last thing she had on her mind after seeing Paul at the hospital.

Della craved a reaffirmation of life. She had needed the release, and she wanted Perry. God, she had wanted that man from the first time she'd laid eyes on him. Those piercing eyes, magnetic personality, and the raw masculinity that he exuded was impossible for her to resist. But Perry was always more than that. His pursuit of justice for everyone, regardless of who they were or what they could pay, had impressed her and touched her heart from the beginning. Her desire for him had never waned; he made her feel both wickedly lustful and loved. Waking up and finding him in her tub was a gift. The bath provided her with the perfect opportunity without blatantly pushing herself on him.

She still unquestionably loved him; that was never _ever_ in doubt. Her heartbreak and the following sorrow that engulfed her after she felt discarded by him could not easily be overcome. Della hoped Perry could understand that. She didn't want him to think that because they'd slept together that it meant all was forgiven. She didn't have any illusions either as to what this may mean for him. It could mean nothing more than a convenient nostalgic night, but deep down she didn't believe that. Maybe that's what frightened her. What if she gave him another chance and he left again? She didn't know if she was strong enough to go through that hell all over again. Their lovemaking could complicate things or push them in a good direction.

Della sighed, felt movement behind her.

"Regrets already," Perry asked softly into her hair. "I hope not. Last night was the second greatest night of my life."

" _The second greatest_?" She sounded good naturedly offended. "What was the first?"

"The first time we made love," he said, barely touching her neck with his lips.

Della teared up but didn't speak.

"That being said, young lady, I hope I haven't thrown my back out."

Della laughed aloud. "I've still got it," she said lightly.

"Yes, you do," he said, turning her around to face him. "The loud humming of your thoughts woke me. I hope you don't think I planned for this to happen. I didn't even dare to hope it could happen." His eyes were serious he took in her early morning appearance, rosy cheeks and beautiful intelligent eyes. Perry ran his fingers delicately through her hair and tucked it behind her ear. "So beautiful," he breathed, and pulled her in for a deep sensuous kiss.

Smiling against his lips as the kiss ended, she murmured, "I hope you don't think that _I took advantage_ _of you_. You were in a fairly vulnerable position, Counselor."

"I'm in a pretty vulnerable position right now," he whispered, as he felt her hand trail lower. "Though I am willing to risk it." He closed his eyes and took a breath as her hand moved again.

Before he knew it, she was top of him. As she leaned down to kiss him, she purred, "You could ask for recess or a postponement, Counselor. I wouldn't want to hurt you."

"Never," Perry growled, as he grabbed her rear with both hands and moved her into a friendly position that worked for both of them.

************************************XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**************.

"Are you sure you don't need anything else," Della asked, as she rearranged his pillows again.

"I'm fine, really. Stop fussing over me," Paul mumbled through his damaged jaw. "I just want to sleep."

Perry and Della had picked him up from the hospital, and he was now situated in his father's apartment.

"You don't look fine," Perry muttered. "You look like you ran into a brick wall at 60 mph on a bicycle."

Paul rolled his eyes. "I'll sleep it off."

"After about two weeks," Perry huffed. "We're glad you're safe, but let this be a lesson—" He was interrupted by Della.

"All right you two that's enough." She pointed at Paul, "You go to sleep. Call the phone downstairs if you need anything, otherwise, I'll be up to check on you occasionally." Della gave him a kiss on his blond curls.

"You," she pointed at Perry, "Come with me and stop picking at him." Smiling, she cocked her head at him, and led the way out the door.

The older man shot the younger one a smile as they exited. "If you want anything…."

Paul thanked him with a thumbs-up gesture.

"Have you thought about when you might give Junior the letter from his father?" Perry asked once they were back in the privacy of Della's house.

She paused in her preparations for dinner. "I haven't even thought about it. I don't think he needs it right now."

Perry sat down at the kitchen table and watched her. "I think you're right about waiting. He's hurting and if gets more emotional it's going to hurt like hell to cry with that cracked jaw and those loose teeth."

"You have experience with that, huh," she said, a smile in her tone.

"Hunh, you better believe it. And his dad was responsible for it at least once. Paul had a hellava punch." This time when he said it, he smiled. "He was always a good man to have at your back."

"Yes, yes, he was," Della said quietly.

Changing the subject, Perry said, "Steve said that the two hoods who were responsible for kidnapping and hurting Junior and Escobar were singing like the proverbial canary. Havens was hiding fake passports in the trailers, selling them to his contact Ortigoso in Mexico, then using them to get people across the border anywhere in the country. And it wasn't Mexican citizens that he was selling them to. No, we're talking big money. The kind of money only criminals can afford. Ortigoso and Havens are not only involved in false passports and birth certificates, but human trafficking. Most of the passports went to women who were forced to come into this country and work in prostitution. Apparently, the women and girls thought they were paying for the passports in cash. Once they got here, Steve said, they were told that they had to work off a larger debt."

Della had turned around to look at him. "My god, Perry, that's horrible. Were they able to find some of the women? Help them?" Her hazel eyes were filled with concern.

"Yes, thank goodness. I don't know what the process will be from here on out. Whether they'll be allowed to stay on humanitarian grounds or sent back. The immigration system in this country is like a damn Chinese puzzle. People with money for lawyers always have the advantage." He had been fiddling with a pencil, doodling, but she could tell his sense of justice was outraged.

Della waved the spoon in her hand as she asked, "What about the people creating the fake passports and birth certificates? Did they find out who they are?"

"Havens lawyered up pretty quickly. I think he knows if he talks against the cartel that he might be buried in the desert somewhere in an unmarked grave." The lawyer shrugged, as he leaned back, and said, "My guess is he's holding out for a deal with the feds. A trade of information and witness protection is his only hope."

She had walked over the table while Perry was talking and took the chair beside him. "What about the people who murdered Paul? Who did he meet with at Big Bear? Do they know who was responsible," she asked.

Perry felt a weight in his gut but he had to tell her. "One of the women who was brought here actually found him. She saw Paul when he was checking out properties owned by Havens. He treated her like a real person, she told Steve. He had given her a card, so she called him. She was followed, not Paul."

Taking a deep breath, he finally came out with what he'd dreaded to tell her. "Della, Havens gave the order and the two who took Paul were the ones who cut the brake lines."

He could see the distress in her posture and fury on her face as realization sunk in.

"Are you telling me that the man who ordered Paul's death could very well be given a deal and walk away into witness protection," Della was infuriated. She knew how the system worked, but this was personal.

Jumping to her feet, she cried, "No! Don't tell me that! How am I supposed explain to Paul that this is justice for his father?"

Perry rose and started to put his arms around her, but she pushed him away.

"No. No. I have to get out of the house for a while, please. Take care of Paul," she said, wiping tears from her eyes. "Don't worry. I just need some time."

Perry understood her anger. The justice system was not always just.

"I'll take care of him. Do what you need to do."

Della picked up her purse and looked back at him with tear filled eyes. "I'm glad you were here. I don't know how I would have coped without you."

Without even thinking, Perry said, "You would have been just fine without me. You've never needed saving. That's one reason I love you."

Della let that statement sink in. Swallowing her tears, with purse and keys in hand, she walked out.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX***************************************************.

She left her purse locked in her car and made her way to Paul's grave. The new sod had taken fairly well because it was watered frequently. His black marble headstone with his name, birth, death, and service were engraved, as well as the globe and anchor of the USMC.

Della sat down on the grass and leaned against the marble, cool against her back. It was so quiet. There wasn't another soul in sight, not even a groundskeeper. The trees gently swayed back and forth in a breeze that was just enough to move the tops.

She sat there, dazed. During the last couple of weeks, her life had been upended. Her best friend was dead. The boy she considered a son was hurt and could have been killed. The only man she'd ever completely given her heart to was back. So emotionally drained that she was almost numb, Della simply sat and listened to the birds and the trees.

What would she have said to him the day he'd driven to Big Bear if she had known that would be the last time she would ever see him? Would she have told him she loved him? She did, just not like she loved Perry. It would have made him happy. Would it have been so bad to have said it and made him believe it for one last time? She could live with that, if she had it to do over.

She'd had the opportunity to go with Perry and she'd chosen not to. That was on her. She would have missed out on so many good things with Paul and Junior if she'd gone. Della had had an idea of what it was like to have a family. There were so many good times. Ball games. Camping. Cruises. Parties. Graduation. She still firmly believed that she'd made the right decision for her; there was no going back. If there was, she would probably make the same decision.

One thing she might have changed. She _might_ have married Paul. He made her happy, and he loved her. He'd given her a beautiful son, deliberately or not. Della regretted nothing about her relationship with Paul. Absolutely nothing. Even the nights they'd found solace in each other. The laughter and spontaneity of their love making, she would cherish the rest of her life. She had never believed it was possible to love two people at the same time because she gave her all once she was committed. She was wrong.

Della placed her palm on the soft new grass covering Paul's grave, and said, "I loved you, too. I want you to know that. Maybe you already do. Forgive me, for not telling you sooner."

******************************XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX.

Perry was waiting up for her when she returned. He was sitting on the front steps with a high ball glass filled with Scotch. He didn't meet her at the car but waited for her to come to him.

"Hi," he said. "I just checked on Paul; he's asleep. He took his meds with dinner. He had chicken soup and ginger ale. I think the meds were getting to his stomach." He looked at her from under hooded eyes. "I told him you had to run to Gordon's office to pick up some papers."

Della sat down beside him, reached for the glass in his hand. He handed it to her and she felt the burn all the way into her chest. "That's the good stuff. Someone around this joint has taste."

"We both know who that is," he answered. "Are you all right?"

"Nope, but I will be." She hesitated, but wanted to know. "When are you flying back to San Francisco?"

"Tomorrow. I can't wait any longer with the case load we've got. I'm sorry."

"No, I understand. I need to go back to work, but I'm going to ask for a few extra days until I'm sure Paul is able to take care of himself."

They were quiet for a while, swapping the whiskey glass back and forth.

"I know it's probably too soon, but I'd like to come back and see you both. I'd like to have you up to San Francisco, if you'll come. I'm not assuming anything, Della. I know you have no reason to put any faith in me again, but do you think, if we start slowly…." He trailed off, hoping she'd pick up the conversation.

She didn't. He started to get up when she finally spoke.

"Did you mean what you said before I left? Do you love me, Mr. Mason?"

With his index finger under her chin, he lifted it so she could look clearly into his eyes. "I've loved you for so long that I can't remember not loving you. I can't lose you again. If we have to start out as friends," when she elevated her eyebrow, he grinned, "Okay, friends who make love occasionally, then so be it. I'll work for your trust like Jacob worked for Rachel, fourteen years or however long it takes. Della, as far your relationship with Paul, that's none of my business, but nothing you could confess would ever make me love you less. I hope as time goes on, we will go on, too, and get back what we lost or maybe even something better. At least that's my hope."

Taking his finger from her chin, she held his hand to her cheek. "It's going to take some time. Time to grieve. Time to get to know each other again."

"I know."

"Paul told me you'd come back to me, in his letter. He told me to forgive you."

"He was right. I came back. Can you forgive me?"

"Am I going to have competition while we're 'working this out'?"

"I'm not seeing anyone, nor will I be. I have been well and truly reminded of how damn near perfect you are, Miss Street. I hope I have sense enough not to screw it up again. Paul might have mentioned that in his letter to me."

She smiled. "Okay, then."

"Good." When he smiled there was joy in his eyes.

He rose and held out his hand to help her up. "May I suggest a holiday, Thanksgiving, Christmas, then the 4th of July?"

Della laughed and that low sultry sound wrapped around his heart. "Details to be ironed out later, Mr. Mason." She said, as she reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"The boy is asleep. We could go upstairs and iron out the details. It's going to be awhile before we see each other."

"As much as I would enjoy that, I think we need to talk, really talk. Lemonade? In the swing out back?"

Perry kissed her on the forehead. "Sounds wonderful. I guess that's my third favorite thing to do."

"Third?"

"Lemonade, bath, and -"

She gently placed her hand over his mouth. "I think I get it."

************XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX***********.

One week later, Della gave Paul the letter from his father. He never told her what his dad wrote, but he seemed to ease up on his judgement of Perry. For that, she was grateful.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX.***********.

Dear Son,

I want you to know how much I love you. Although we had an unusual and late start, you are the greatest thing to ever happen to me. I know you were hurt when you were left by your mother. If she changes, forgive her. If not, leave her alone. You don't need that ugliness in your life.

It's never easy to lose a parent, now you probably feel like you've lost both of yours. Never feel like you're alone. I will always be with you in spirit or any way possible. Love doesn't die when the person dies, just like you won't stop loving me because I'm not around anymore.

You're smart and you're a survivor. I know that because you are my son. I want you to know that I've made arrangements to take care of you. Della, of course, will take care of you until it's your time to take care of her. That's part of love, too, responsibility.

I didn't actually get to know you until I was awarded custody of you by the court. I still remember the first time I saw you, blond curly hair and big blue eyes. Cutest damn kid I'd ever seen. If I had known you existed, I would have come for you sooner. Nothing would have stood in my way. Loyalty is part of love, too.

My best hope for you is that you find someone you love, and loves you back, and have a home life as well as a career. Family should always come first. Look beyond the pretty exteriors. Some lovely women have really ugly insides, just like some men do. Listen and learn.

Take care who you trust. Use your head and your heart. Be compassionate, but don't be a sap.

Your Uncle Perry will come back at some point. Try to remember, he loves Della, too. He has for a long time. He just went through a dumb patch. Listen to him. Through him you will learn that good men are not always perfect, but that doesn't mean they aren't still good men. Give him a chance.

I feel foolish trying to cram everything I should have already told or taught you into something that I can stuff into an envelope. You've got a good head on your shoulders and a good heart. Use them both.

I love you,

Dad

PS Keep playing the sax. Women love musicians.

**Two hurricanes later (no power, rain, etc.) and it's finished. I'm sure I could have done a better job. I may rewrite it one day. I can't tell you how I wrestled with how I wanted to finish this. I hope I don't disappoint. If you like it, leave a review. If anyone has a topic they'd like to see touched on, send me a PM, I'll get back to you. Thank you for reading and reviewing. MC


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